Kathy Lynn Emerson's Blog, page 37

Thank you

Bruce Robert Coffin here, wishing all of you a happy August. By the time you read this blog the release of my second Detective Byron novel, Beneath the Depths, will only be five days away! I don’t know about you but I am more than ready.

I’ll admit it, I really struggled with what I wanted to write about this month. Perhaps it is the excitement of the impending release or maybe it is because I’m nearly three quarters of the way through the manuscript for book number three. But regardless of the reason the answer finally came, as it always does, when I wasn’t thinking about it. I decided that this blog would be all about gratitude. To whom am I expressing thanks? Why to you of course.

Writing novels has been my dream since I was a young man and your support has helped me to make it a reality. No writer goes on this journey alone. Oh the actual writing may be a solitary pursuit but the rest of it requires help from you, the reader. You are the reason each of us put pen to paper and fingers to the keys in the first place. It is your imagination that helps us breathe life into the characters who reside on the pages of our books. Your enthusiasm for our storytelling is the very thing that keeps each of us going back to the well again and again. There is no greater feeling than having a fan tell you they can’t wait for our next book. Trust me when I tell you that we each feed off of that. Our fans are why we struggle to find the right word, the correct phrase, and for clarity of thought. You are the reason that we are always striving to improve.

And so I thank you. Thank you for reading my blog posts and my random social media thoughts. Thank you for reading my short stories and novels. Thank you for sending emails of encouragement and praise. Thank you for posting reviews and for recommending my books to your friends and family. Thank you for the invites to speak at your local bookstores and libraries. Thank you for attending my readings and book signings. Thank you for inviting me into your schools and social clubs. Thank you for purchasing my books and more importantly for reading them. Thank you for waiting patiently these past eleven months for another visit from John Byron and Diane Joyner. And thank you most of all for giving this retired cop another shot at a career he loves.

Thank you, dear reader.

 

Help! In Need of a New Cozy Title

Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson here. Last week, in a guest post at Wicked Cozy Authors, fellow Kensington author Maya Corrigan (https://wickedcozyauthors.com/2017/07/28/the-tell-tale-title-guest-maya-corrigan/#comments) talked about using crowd-sourcing to find good pun-laced titles for her food-oriented cozy mysteries. I am blatantly stealing this approach because in just one short month I have to turn in the proposal for the second book in my Deadly Edits series.

Yes, I know the first book isn’t out yet. It won’t be out until next June. But a “reasonably detailed outline” of the plot of Book Two has to be turned in to my editor on September 1 and it would really help if it had a title. Right now the file in my computer just says “Mikki #2” to distinguish it from the nearly empty “Liss #13” file. Liss #12, due December 1, has had a title, Overkilt, from the beginning, but it was my previous editor at Kensington who picked that one, not me. Don’t get me wrong. I like it. It just wasn’t my idea.

I think I’m pretty good at coming up with titles. I have a few I’m particularly proud of. Face Down in the Marrow-Bone Pie (written as Kathy) was a hit with pretty much everyone. That was the first of ten books to feature Lady Appleton, sixteenth-century gentlewoman and expert on poisonous herbs as the amateur detective. All the titles in the series start with the words Face Down, which has been good for branding. The Diana Spaulding Mystery Quartet set in 1888 (also as Kathy), used words related in meaning in the titles: Deadlier than the Pen; Fatal as a Fallen Woman; No Mortal Reason; and Lethal Legend. I can also take full credit for the titles of my (Kathy’s) two collections of short stories, Murders and Other Confusions and Different Times, Different Crimes. Kathy’s track record for coming up with titles in Mistress Jaffrey series has not been as good. Murder in the Queen’s Wardrobe was mine but Murder in the Mercery was changed to Murder in the Merchant’s Hall and Murder in a Cornish Kiddlywink became Murder in a Cornish Alehouse.

As for Kaitlyn’s titles, those in the Liss MacCrimmon series have been a mix of those I came up with and suggestions from two agents and three editors. I came up with Kilt Dead. My agent wasn’t enthusiastic about the original plot, but she loved the title. Since then, though, more often than not my original idea has been overruled by either the editor or the marketing department. I’m not complaining. My editor came up with The Corpse Wore Tartan and I think that’s one of the best. On the other hand, A Wee Christmas Homicide still makes me cringe. I kept pitching ideas to do with the Twelve Days of Christmas theme but none of them made the cut.

By now you’re probably wondering what happened to the search for a title for the new book. Let me do a cover reveal first. This is an early draft of the front cover of Crime and Punctuation, the first Deadly Edits mystery featuring Mikki Lincoln, a retired teacher who sets up as a free-lance book editor to make ends meet. There will be at least minor changes to the cover art before publication, if only adding a real quote where it says “a really good reading line here.” My original title for the book was Deadly Edits, which is now the series title. I can definitely live with that. It was my editor who came up with Crime and Punctuation—a perfect choice given Mikki’s new profession and the fact that this is a murder mystery.

 

In the process of finding a title for Mikki #1, the editor who bought it, the editor I now have, my agent, and I all came up with title suggestions. Once the decision was made for the first book, the best of the other possibilities went on a list to consider for Mikki #2. I’d really appreciate any and all feedback about these titles. Just post your opinions in the comments section below.

If anyone can think of a possible title not on this list, that would be even better. Post a new suggestion in the comments section and if I love it, I’ll send you your pick of any of my novels as a thank-you gift.

And now, without further ado, the current list of title ideas for Mikki #2:

KILLER COMMAS

MURDER REVISED

MURDER REWRITTEN

THE BLOOPER MURDERS

DEADLY TYPO

MURDERED WORDS

MURDER OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE

HOMICIDE WITH HOMONYMS

DEATH OF A NIT-PICKER

KILL YOUR DARLINGS

MURDER IN THE PRESENT TENSE

OXYMORON MURDER

THE STYLE SHEET MURDERS

LINE-EDITED TO DEATH

THE PROOFREADER’S LAST MARK

THE COMMA BEFORE CHRISTMAS

A FATAL REVISION

REVISED TO DEATH

CLAUSE AND EFFECT

DIAL M FOR MODIFIER

GAME, SET, SYNTAX

BRAVE NEW WORD

THE SENTENCE ALSO RISES

THE SOUND AND THE FRAGMENT

PRESUMED IDIOM

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 a Writer’s Not Engaged in Her Employment

On my way to the Witherle Library in Castine for a library talk. Is anyone else terrified about driving over the Penobscot Narrows Bridge?

Kate Flora: You may recall that a post or two ago, I declared that I was going to spend my summer exploring indolence. At that time, I had visions of sitting in a white rocking chair on my porch, devouring novels like a box of bonbons. The very next day, an edited manuscript arrived that demanded my attention through the Fourth of July weekend, returned a week later like a boomerang, and has returned once more since. Evidently the editor read my blog post and decided I really needed something to do.

That matter settled, an e-book that needs to become a paperback also arrived and needed my attention. In between, I explored carrot and parsnip fritters, and made a lovely dish with Israeli couscous. Along with reading, my vow has been to cook my way through Yottam Ottolenghi’s book, Jerusalem. So far, my results have actually looked a lot like the pictures.

 

In an excess of enthusiasm at the idea of having an empty schedule, I paid a visit to the

The Maine Mulch Murder by A. Carman Clark

lovely ladies at Mainely Murder to drop off some copies of my late mother’s mystery, The Maine Mulch Murder, and choose some summer reading. The conversation turned to my mother’s second mystery, The Corpse in the Compost, which was in draft form at the time of her death. For a few years now, I have vowed to see if I could finish it when I had time. Now, as Paula and Ann pointed out, I said I had a wide open summer. And that was that.

Instead of devouring novels, I am sitting in my white rocking chair on my porch with a notebook in my lap. It contains the draft novel, my typed comments after reading it about fourteen years ago, notes from an editor, and notes from her good friend, Marilis Hornidge, who was a writer and editor herself. Now I am slowly making my way through the book, editing, writing notes to myself, and occasionally looking skyward and saying, “Darnit, mom, what were you trying to do here?” or “Look, where are you notes on antique fabrics?” It’s a strange conversation, and I’m trying to tweak what needs tweaking without spoiling the author’s unique voice.

Sunset over Mackerel Cove

I would say that I am paying for my desire to have to the summer off, but in truth, this project is a whole lot of fun. When I’m not channeling my mother, I am slowly working toward assembling a dozen of my published short stories into a book, and finishing the next Thea Kozak mystery. Maybe, as everyone has always said, it is impossible for a writer not to be writing.

Of course, because I am still trying to embrace indolence, I am spending pleasant time communing with my flowers. And on Thursday, weather permitting, I will join other members of my family in Union for a morning of picking blueberries and a swim in Sennebec Pond.

The Alert sailing out of the cove

A Photography Exhibit in Naples, Florida

by Barbara Ross, Maine’s newest resident

If you follow my posts on social media, or read them here, or on Wicked Cozy Authors, you know I am moving. It has been a four month-long ordeal during which we have done the following. 1) Cleaned out my late mother-in-law’s crazy-full apartment. “Gee, I didn’t know you could get this much into 937 square feet,” said my helpful brother-in-law. 2) Helped my son and his wife clean out their Connecticut home and move to Virginia. 3) Got our house ready to sell (cleanout #3) and then sold our house and moved out (cleanout #4, still in its final, final throes even as you read this).

So it was with particular joy that my husband Bill and I spent four days in June in Naples, Florida. Bill had a photograph selected for a juried show at the Naples Art Association, mounted in conjunction with Cameras USA. Incidentally, the portal Bill submitted through was recommended to him by Bob Thomas, artist and husband of our own Lea Wait.

The opening reception was June 17th, and long before any of these moves were fully scheduled, we had decided to attend. I always believe whenever you are recognized for your work, you need to celebrate it. You just don’t know when something like this will come around again. For example, the first year I edited the Level Best anthology, Judy Green’s story was nominated for an Edgar® Award. Three of the editors, plus one former editor, attended the banquet. (Plus Judy and her husband, of course.) And, indeed, it never happened again while we were at Level Best. Celebrate your successes people, the failures will come often enough.

Nonetheless, once all this other work piled up, I was nervous about taking those four days off. But it turned out to be a great time and a welcome break.

The Naples Art Association

The Naples Art Association is a fabulous place, and a wonderful showcase for art.

Bill’s photo in the show.

This is Bill’s photo from the show. The curator told us they’d brought a bunch of kids from their summer program through the exhibit the morning before the reception. One of the little kids, looking at Bill’s photo asked, “Why is he so sad?”

Bill’s title for the photo is “Fatigue.” I don’t know if the man is sad or simply exhausted, but given that he got on the T at the Mass General Hospital stop, it could be either.

The photographer poses with his work.

It was an impressive body of work from an impressive group of photographers. I teased Bill, because all the artist bios said things like, “After I got my MFA in Photography at Yale…” Or, “After teaching photography for 30 years at R.I.T…” Or, “As a professional photographer…” Whereas Bill’s said, “Two years ago I started taking photos with my iPhone…”

Which is a bit of a joke, because really he has taken a lot of courses and learned a lot of software and when we’re not moving, moving, moving, he shoots and processes photos everyday.

Bill Carito with New Orleans-based photographer Les Schmidt. In back of them is Les’s photograph, “Storm 64.”

One of the joys for me was seeing Bill interact with the other photographers and judges at the opening reception. It’s something I often get to do in the mystery writing and reading worlds and I know how it feeds your head and your soul.

New Orleans photographer Les Schmidt’s work, “Storm 64” was one of the few other digital works in the exhibit. The photo was taken on an old Blackberry that kept giving him error messages. When he attempted to retrieve the photos, it was evident the camera had glitched, but with an extraordinary effect on the photographs. Les recognized them for what they were, and incredibly, when they were blown up and color-matched, they didn’t pixilate or otherwise degrade. He told Bill he has enough for a series. His intentional and more conventional photography is extraordinary, too. You can see more here.

 

We returned to the exhibit before we left town to take some photos when the room wasn’t crowded. This is the wall Bill’s photo is on. The winner’s photo is on this wall, in the center on the bottom, but unfortunately you can’t see it. The winner was Brian Malloy from Plymouth, Massachusetts. The photo, of two old men is “an homage to Henri Cartier Bresson and the way in which he uses light and shadow,” and is really fantastic. Brian, who is an event photographer, (weddings, etc., see his website here) said he had never been recognized for his fine art photography before and gave a very gracious speech.

The photo on the left was a shelfie by the photographer/model, printed on plastic, shaped and backlit.

 

I loved the dynamism of the photo on the right. It was a good thing we were in the process of moving and bemoaning that we have way too much art, because I could have spent a fortune in that place.

Naples, Florida

I have to admit, at first I didn’t “get” Naples. The old port is cool, but small and the rest of it seemed like a morass of gated communities full of something bigger than McMansions, (Big MacMansions?) and high rise condominiums.

But lucky for us, our friends Jon and Deb were in town. They would ordinarily be back in Kennebunk by June, but they had just bought a house and were overseeing renovations. They took us around and showed us all the sights. We went to their beach club, lazed on the beach, and swam in the warm Gulf. And honestly…

One of Bill’s shots of Naples.

How could you not “get” that?

The show is open until August 4, in case you happen to be in the area. You can see more of the photos and read more about it here. (Bill’s photo is the second one shown!)

The photographer and his proud spouse.

[If you like Bill’s photos and want to see more, you can friend him on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/bcarito and follow him on Instagram at billcarito and bill.carito.colorphotos.]

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Weekend Update: July 29-30, 2017

Next week at Maine Crime Writers, there will be posts by Barb Ross (Monday), Kate Flora (Tuesday), Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson (Wednesday), Bruce Coffin (Thursday), and Brenda Buchanan (Friday).

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

Several MCW writers and alums will be in Camden for the MWPA summer party at Tess Gerritsen’s house, including Kate Flora, Maureen Milliken, Dick Cass and Bruce Coffin, along with James Hayman and Chris Holm. You shouldn’t miss it, but in case we don’t see you there, we’ll share pictures.

This week, Jen Blood shared photos of her new house and pictures of some of the mystery plants in her new garden. People had so much fun trying to identify them all. If you want to get in on the action, check out her post from this past Thursday.

Meanwhile, a reminder that this month’s gift is a copy of John Clark and Kate Flora’s mother’s book, The Maine Mulch Murder. You know you’d like to have this in your library, so keep those comments coming.

Last Saturday, Dorothy Cannell, Lea Wait, Kathy Lynn Emerson, and Kate Flora were at the Beyond the Sea Book Festival in Lincolnville, along with our frequent MCW guest, Katherine Hall Page. Here are a few pictures from that event:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kate Flora is thrilled to share this review of her latest Joe Burgess, Led Astray, from George Smith of the Bangor Daily News: http://georgesmithmaine.com/articles/book-reviews/july/2017/another-suspenseful

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

Fascination with the Sea

I have always loved the ocean. The boom of crashing waves; the silence of low tide; the rhythms of swells. The smell of salt air and rockweed. The cries of herring gulls and laughing gulls. The changing colors of the waters.

I once sat on ledges at Pemaquid for hours, listening to the sea, invisible to me because the fog was so dense.

The first time my daughter Ali saw the ocean. She was 4.

I love the colors of sunrises and sunsets reflected on the waters. I love the rhythms of waves that soothed and challenged people thousands of year ago, and, if our world continues as it is, will continue to do so for generations to come. We cannot outlive the sea. In winter, I love the glint of shattered ice on the shore, and ice floes on rivers.

Maine also has deep woods, large and small lakes, and (sometimes intimidating; sometimes seductive) mountains. Every year they attract thousands of people. But the part of Maine I love best is the coast. My home is not on the ocean, but on one of Maine’s many tidal rivers, which also ebb and flow; surge and retreat. The waters constantly move and change while always, somehow, surviving, and remaining the same.

Waters offered pathways in the past, when there were few roads, and people traveled in boats. Today people still work on the waters, and travel on them. People choose ocean travel because it is an escape to a world far from the lives many of us live today. A return to an element that has been part of man’s history for eons.

Grandchildren Samantha & Vanessa, in Maine, about 10 years ago

The sea sometimes offers peace, despite, or perhaps because of, its hidden currents and depths. It offers sustenance — fish, lobsters, crabs, oysters, mussels, clams, scallops, and a variety of seaweeds.

The sea has always challenged us. Waves surge and fall. They crest, and their spray whitens the darkness of deeper waves. Currents can be deadly. Storms turn ripples into waves and waves into crashing towers of water that contest the strength of the land. Early maps picture dragons at the horizons. Who knew what might lie beyond our visible world? Only the sea.

I remember my awe when, as a child, I stood in pine woods, high above rocks I’d explored and loved, and felt the spray from hurricane waters that covered those rocks and, with every crashing wave, moved the sea ever closer to where I stood.

Even in winter – the view from my home.

Today I sit at my desk and look out at a river twelve miles from the ocean, but still moved by winds and waves affecting the North Atlantic. For years my favorite escape was to row my skiff, away from land and its challenges, close to herons and gulls. I loved the silence. The pull of the water on my oars. The perpetual challenge of changing tides and winds.

I don’t row anymore; my skiff is overturned, waiting, next to my barn. I miss being out on the water.

But the river and the ocean are still there, bringing constancy to my life.

They’re a large part of why I love living in Maine.

Maine Garden Mystery

It’s been a wild month for Ben and me, as we’ve finally settled into our new home in Phippsburg. One of the wonders (and key selling points) for this house is the gardens, which are vast and many. I’ve been daydreaming about a garden of my own for years now, studying up and lusting after others’ pretty green acres, but it turns out that studying in your apartment in Portland is an entirely different animal than being set down with a rake and a pair of gardening shears in the center of a thriving garden that’s suddenly all your own.

Consequently, there have been stages of acceptance in this process. At first, I was reluctant to touch anything for fear that I would ruin the whole place. The previous owner had set aside some time to go over things, and until that day came I was as timid as a turtle in traffic about pulling anything up.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a weed,” Ben said to me as I stared down a six-foot-tall thistle.

“What if it’s there for a reason,” I said. “Like, maybe they put it there because it repels bugs. Or putting a thistle next to the kale makes the kale grow faster.”

“Or maybe it’s just a weed,” said Ben.

I wouldn’t let him pull it. When Emily (the previous owner) came round, she looked at me like I was daft. “You’ll need to keep on top of the weeds or things will go wild fast,” she said.

“So you didn’t put this here for a reason, then?”

“It’s a weed. I didn’t put it there at all.”

Lesson learned. After Emily walked me through the place and bid me farewell, I dove in. I’ve been weeding ever since, with a few breaks in between for writing. I’ve learned a lot in the past week, but there are still many, many things I don’t know about this gardening adventure. For example, I learned shortly after our arrival that we’d inherited a garden full of cabbage worms and flea beetles, so it’s been trial by fire trying to keep on top of that.

And, to top it off, there were several plants that Emily didn’t actually recall the name of, or where they’d come from, so I’ve been researching and frankly have come up short. Which is where you, dear reader, come in. For those garden enthusiasts out there, I have several photos below of mystery plants I can’t figure out. Are they weeds? Can we eat them? Should I be plotting the garden around them, or tearing them out as fast as I can find them?

There are others, but I don’t want to completely take advantage of the unique skillset belonging to Maine Crime Writers readers. Though there are obviously some challenges to this new world set in front of us, I have to say that I’m having a wonderful time getting to know the house and the grounds. I harvested 35 garlic bulbs the other day, the kale looks like it’s starting to rebound from the cabbage worms, and I know the tomatoes will be ready before I know it. On top of that, there are blueberry, raspberry, and golden raspberry plants that have been yielding like crazy. Next comes conquering canning, freezing, and preserves for fall and winter. Come hell or high water, my larder will be full when the winter winds are blowing this year!

Jen Blood is author of the USA Today-bestselling Erin Solomon Mysteries and the Flint K-9 Search and Rescue Mysteries. To learn more, visit www.jenblood.com. 

Leave The Gun. Take The Pizza. Part 1

Pizza and crime: how do I count the ways?

Anyone who knows me well knows that I’m seriously obsessed with pizza. My obsession with pizza started at a young age and has only grown in ardor as I’ve gotten older. It’s clinical and compulsive. I read books and magazines on the subject. I repeatedly watch TV shows about pizza. Wherever I travel (recently to New York City), I make sure to sample the best that the region has to offer. If I wasn’t so consumed pursuing my other passion—crime writing—I’m fairly certain I’d be spinning pizzas in the air. Oh well, maybe in another life.

Many people don’t know this, but pizza is to crime what peanut butter is to jelly. Or what brick oven is to pizza. The two go hand in hand, and in ways obvious and not so.

Real crimes against pizza exist. Like putting pineapple, mayo or Easter peeps on pizza. It’s a crime against nature to put chicken & waffles on a pie. Or macaroni and cheese. Buying frozen crusts or stuffing the crust with cheese should be a felony. Cauliflower crust pizza is on par with manslaughter (I’m guilty of this and on parole). Chicken and meatballs of any kind should never be put on a pie. And if you think I’m kidding about this, guess again. A safe rule to go by is that one should never put more than three toppings on any given pie.

The Associazione Vera Pizza Napoletana is the governing body for creating authentic Neapolitan pizzas. They require a specific type of flour and cheese. Only San Marzano tomatoes grown in the dark soil of Mt. Vesuvius. And Italian olive oil. The pizza must cook between 60 and 90 seconds, no more no less. Punishment for breaking these pizza laws requires both feet to be dunked in cement and then tossed into the Adriatic Sea.

Now the flip side. Pizza has a long and rich history with criminal elements. Take the Pizza Connection Trial. Between 1975 and 1984, the Sicilian mafia was sending heroin to independent pizza parlors for distribution. Scores of Americans, Sicilians, Swiss and Spanish suspects were rounded up and arrested. Roughy 1.6 billion in heroin was brought into the U.S. during that time. Famed FBI agent ‘Donnie Brasco’ was the first source for information regarding the Pizza Connection. Clearly, they gave my favorite food a bad name.

In Chicago you can book a Crime and Pizza Tour and learn about Al Capone and all the mob related shoot-outs that took place in the Windy City. Although I have to admit. I’m more of thin crust, John Gotti sort of guy than a thick cruster, I’d certainly sign up for that tour.

Did you know that delivering pizzas is probably the most dangerous job in America? It’s estimated that two pizza drivers are killed every day in this country. According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, in 2013 748 Pizza drivers were killed on the job. It was three times higher than construction workers, who ranked 2nd in fatalities. Clearly, people in this country are crazy about pizza, although in unexpected and felonious ways.

Did you know that the crust of a slice of pizza was used to collect evidence, which then provided DNA used to convict a serial killer in California? A woman once saved herself from rape by throwing a hot slice at her attacker. And these are just a few of the many stories. Every day in this country, people literally kill for pizza. There was once a Twinkie defense used in a murder case. So could pizza be the reason people commit violent acts?

Despite pizza’s dubious connection to crime, I choose to look at pizza’s better angels. The bubbly, charred crust from a coal fired oven, say at Regina’s in the North End or Frank Pepe’s in New Haven. There’s the wonderful buffalo mozzarella cheese melted over the top. Salty but flavorful tomato sauce infused with oregano and imported Italian olive oil. I think about the old man, Dom Demarco, at Di Fira’s in Brooklyn, who at 83 has been making beautiful handmade pizzas since 1964 (Bucket list pizza, but that’s for another blog post). When nostalgic, I think back to my trips to Santarpio’s in East Boston, and Sally’s and Modern Apizza in New Haven. To the pizzerias in Rome and Florence. Or to the awesome family joint Zuppardi Apizza in West Haven. How about the Lynwood Cafe in Randolph, where they’ve mastered the bar pizza—thin crust, one size, and with sauce spread to the edge.

Then all the badness disappears and I’m one with the universe. Just be sure not to put pineapple on my pizza and we won’t have a problem.

Capisce?

 

Food for Thought

Dorothy Cannell: I only began reading Georges Simenon’s Maigret novels a year or so

Dorothy at the Beyond the Sea book festival in Lincolnville

ago when Penguin began republishing them and I came across some at Left Bank Books in Belfast.  Since then I have devoured one every chance I get.  I relish the character of Maigret, but mostly am awed by writing that creates a living atmosphere through clear cut, unobtrusive prose.  No fuss, just descriptions that open the door to a man’s life as he pursues evil through the streets of Paris or country villages, dampened by fog or seared by harsh sun.

But what of Madam Maigret?  She is a peripheral, but fundamental feature of his world.  Often she is only mentioned when he telephones to let her know he will not be home for dinner that night, or possibly the next few days.  One imagines all those forlornly left cassoulets and, ragouts … I can hardly think she would ever have risked a soufflé, but soup of course would always be a safe bet.  As an homage to her and all who close the refrigerator door on what was to have been a shared meal.  I am including one of my favorite recipes.

French Onion Soup

2 cans beef consommé

2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce

½ can water

½ can sherry

3 large onions

4 tablespoons butter

1 tablespoon sugar

¼ cup flour

Thinly slice onions.  Melt butter in saucepan.  Stir in sugar.  Add onions and sauté over low heat for ten minutes.  Increase stirring until caramelized.  Sprinkle flour over onions and stir.  Slowly add 1 can consommé and full can waterer.  Add second can consommé, followed by 1/2 can water and 1/2 sherry (sweet preferable to dry, but either will do.)  Add Worcestershire sauce.  Continue stirring and bring to boil.  Lower heat and simmer for half an hour.  Season to taste with salt and pepper.

This can be served with a toast round topped with Swiss (or other) cheese, popped under the broiler.  Grab the grated Parmesan and sprinkle.  But my advice to Madam Maigret would be not to bother if her husband was not visible across the dining table.  Though it does Keep nicely (even improves) if in fridge for several days.

I know a fictional character is fully realized when I want to help her out.  Do let me know what your think Madam Maigret.  If Simenon were alive today I would ask him to give you a cat to provide company in your often lonely Parisian apartment.

Bon Appetite

Dorothy

WHERE ARE YOU RONNIE JAY?

Vaughn C. Hardacker here. Several years ago (2004 as a fact) I was a member of a writer’s group that met at the Exeter Public Library in Exeter New Hampshire. We were a diverse group in what we wrote and over time became a clique. One evening a new person

Vaughn

joined us. He wore a cowboy hat, boots, and all of his his clothes were as black as Johnny Cash’s. He introduced himself as Ronnie Jay and said he wasn’t sure that he’d fit in with us as he wrote country music songs. He also said that he’d just moved to New Hampshire from Nashville, Tennessee. That week he listened and when we broke up, most of us doubted we’d ever see him again. Much to our surprise Ronnie returned for the next meeting and said that he didn’t want to attend empty handed so he’d written a poem. My head filled with visions of a country ballad filled with drinking, jailhouse blues, and lamentation over lost love. What we got was anything but. In fact in a single page of poetry Ronnie hit a note within all of us, especially since most of us were unpublished and those of us who were had either self-published or published in online eZines.

Here’s what Ronnie read.

The Unknown Writer
By

Ronnie Jay

© 2004

I’m an unknown writer

Creative as they come

But, there’ll come a day, I dare say

I’ll be a famous one

I’ll write a #1 best-seller

And oh, the riches it will bring

It’ll sell more in every bookstore

Than Grisham, Crichton or King

I know you won’t believe me

And I can’t make you a believer

But, if I don’t believe in myself

No one else will either

Yes, I know it sounds impossible

To reach those heights of fame

And I realize that I may never

Be a household name

But, it doesn’t really matter

If my dreams do or don’t come true

I’m still gonna keep on writing

Because that’s what writers do

When he was finished reading, the entire room was silent. He sat back and said, “I guess you don’t like it.” I replied, “Just the opposite. You hit the nail square on the head. In a few simple verses you have voiced how every writer feels at one time or another.” Then I asked him if I could submit it to a newsletter a group of us were publishing. He gave his approval as long as he was given credit for it. I readily gave him my word that I would ensure that his name was listed as the author. Ronnie disappeared after that meeting, he had mentioned he was considering returning to Nashville as that was the capital of the country music scene, and we assumed that’s what he did.

I have not heard of Ronnie since so I’m publishing his ode to writing hoping that should he ever see this, he’ll approve. To the best of my knowledge, I’ve never heard any of his songs (at least I don’t think I have) but I never forgot him and how he hit the bulls eye and got to the heart of how many of us writers feel. Then again, I would imagine the struggle to get your work published (recorded?) must be as tough for a song-writer as it is for a mystery/thriller writer. So Ronnie, in the event you should see this blog, get in touch with me.