Kathy Lynn Emerson's Blog, page 87

Saint Nicholas

Bruce Robert Coffin here, hoping that 2015 has been a good year for all of you. We’ve certainly had more than our share of news stories filled with tragedy, hatred, and violence, reporting that tends to take away much of my holiday spirit. Last year, in an attempt to move past these negative images, I wrote a short fictional Christmas story which I posted on Facebook. I’ve decided to share that same message again with each of you. Hopefully, if I’ve done my job well, this story will put a smile on your face and some warmth in your hearts. Feel free to share if you think it might mean something to others.

Saint Nicholas

I’ve always believed that it’s part of the human condition to focus on the negative. Maybe it has something to do with our upbringing, although upon reflection we are all raised very differently so perhaps not. Whatever it is, it definitely exists in each of us. How else can we explain the age old news reporting axiom “if it bleeds it leads?” Police officers are even more inclined to focus on the negative. Being exposed to it day in and day out tends to make one jaded. But, I’m getting way ahead of myself. I should probably begin by telling you a little bit about me before I tell you my story.

My name is Crispin Mallory and, in case you haven’t already guessed, I am a police officer. I’ve been with the same department for thirty years, pushing a cruiser around, investigating motor vehicle accidents, breaking up domestics, chasing down criminals, and writing the occasional traffic citation.

One day, several years back, I was working a double shift. Cops aren’t paid all that well and when an overtime opportunity presents itself most of us on the job are quick to say yes. It was December twenty-fourth and I just finished my first tour. I’d returned to the station to attend roll call before heading back out for another eight hours. I was tired and not in a particularly festive mood, mostly due to the fact that I had to work on Christmas, which meant my wife and two children would be celebrating without me. Another holiday missed. Such is the life of a cop. Anyway, the sergeant held me back after the briefing, said he had a task for me. I was instructed to return some valuables to a local home for the aged. Apparently one of the nursing staff had confessed to stealing jewelry from some of the residents at the home, to support her drug habit. See what I mean? All negative. The sergeant provided me with the name of the medical administrator and asked me to deliver the items to him.

After checking out a squad car and loading my gear, I got on the radio and requested that the dispatcher show me ten-six (busy) on assignment. I drove toward the nursing home grabbing a drive through coffee along the way.

I parked in the lot and made my way inside. The receptionist was talking to one of the orderlies and they both turned as I entered.

“Hello officer,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

I returned the greeting.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for Mr. Ashby,” I said. “I’m supposed to deliver something to him.”

“I’ll try his extension.”

I wandered around the lobby as she tried to locate Ashby. Everything was brightly painted and decorated for the season. On the counter stood a small lit Christmas tree. I wondered if the employees were still allowed to call it a Christmas tree.

“Officer?”

“Yes.”

“He’ll be right out.”

I thanked her and continued to look around. Ashby walked up to me and introduced himself as the facility’s head administrator. I explained my purpose for being there and he led me back to his office so we could talk in private.

Once we were seated, I handed him the package and an evidence slip explaining that he needed to sign for the items.

“I am so pleased that your detectives were able to recover so many of the things that our former employee took. I’m sure you can imagine how much these items mean to the residents here. Some of these pieces of jewelry aren’t all that valuable, but they represent gifts from and memories of loved ones. Some things are worth far more than money.”

I agreed. After going through each of the items he signed for them and returned the evidence sheet to me. I stood, preparing to leave, when he stopped me.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to do me one small favor, would you officer?”

I wondered why I would need to do another favor for him. After all, I’d just returned a number of stolen items. Shouldn’t that have been sufficient? “I really need to get back on the road, Mr. Ashby.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t impose. You’ve got places to go I imagine.”

Now verbally he was letting me off the hook but his tone and facial expression told another story. I knew he was attempting reverse psychology on me. Something my wife and I did to our kids everyday. “What do you need?” I asked.

“It will only take a second, I promise. But it will mean so much to her.”

Ashby proceeded to tell me about an eighty-year-old patient named Ruth Perkins. Mrs. Perkins was suffering from Alzheimer’s.

“She’s all alone now,” Ashby said. “Her husband passed last year. They had one son, Nicholas, and he was a police officer. Nicholas was killed in a shootout many years ago. Apparently he would visit her every Christmas, whether he was working or not and it meant the world to her. Her Alzheimer’s is advanced but she still manages to put several good days together each month. I have no idea how she does it but she does.”

I sat down again as he continued.

“Every month since the death of her husband, just prior to the twenty-fifth, she gets it into her head that Christmas is approaching. She gets so excited and makes a point to tell all of the staff that her son is coming to visit. She even has a ceramic tree that she makes us put up in her room. Of course when the twenty-fifth passes and Nicholas doesn’t show up her condition quickly worsens and she reverts back to her former state. It’s really quite sad.”

“What do you want me to do?,” I asked. “I’m not her son.”

“I know that, but I thought it might cheer her up just to get a visit from an officer in uniform. Just stop by and wish her a merry Christmas.”

I only wanted to get back to my comfort zone. Back to my cruiser. I really wasn’t enjoying the idea of popping in on an already confused old woman, possibly making her situation worse. But Ashby’s reverse psychology must have worked because I found myself saying okay.

He said he’d introduce me, then he led me down the hall to her room. I followed, amid the stares and whispers of the other residents. Each of them probably wondering what the cop was doing there. At last he stopped and entered a room. The sign on the door said R. Perkins and a white ceramic tree stood on the table under the window. As I rounded the corner I saw her sitting up in bed, wearing a festive green robe over a red sweater. She was wearing makeup and it looked like she had just paid a visit to the hair dresser. She looked dignified and radiant, like someone waiting to be called upon, not at all what I had expected.

“Mrs. Perkins,” he said. “I’ve brought you a visitor.”

She turned towards us and her blue eyes lit up instantly. “Nicholas,” she cried out. “My Saint Nicholas, I knew you’d come. Didn’t I say he would come? Oh, this is the best Christmas ever.”

She held her arms out to me as I approached the bed. I bent down toward her and she hugged me tightly, even kissing me on the cheek. “Merry Christmas,” I said.

“I should leave the two of you alone now,” Ashby said, as he left.

I sat down in the chair beside the bed and she began asking me all sorts of questions. I was afraid that I might say the wrong thing, but as time passed it became obvious that nothing I said would lessen her faith that I was her son. We talked for close to an hour. I told her all about my family and about my work. She asked if I remembered this thing or that and of course I told her I did. The smile never left her face.

I stayed with her until she began to tire. All the excitement had worn her out. She hugged me again and made me promise to return the following day. Christmas Day. I promised that I would and kissed her on the cheek.

I returned to my cruiser and radioed that I was back in service. My heart was full and I was happier than I’d been in a long while. It was clear that my visit to Ruth Perkins had done something positive to both of us. I no longer cared that I’d be missing this Christmas with my own family. Don’t get me wrong, I still wanted to be with them but after visiting a lonely old woman I realized I had no right to complain. There would be other Christmases to spend with my family. Mrs. Perkins’ family was gone leaving her only memories.

I returned to work the following day. Christmas Day turned out to be busier than any of us had imagined. A light snowfall had left the roads slick resulting in many accidents. The calls for service were already backing up by the time I hit the street.

It was nearly one in the afternoon before I was finally able to take a lunch break. I grabbed a sandwich and a couple of eggnogs at the local market before heading to see Mrs. Perkins. I was excited about being able to keep my promise to her and looking forward to seeing her face light up at the sight of me.

I parked in the nearly vacant lot and headed inside. The receptionist was a different girl than the one I’d spoken to the previous day. Holiday help I assumed. She asked if she could help me and I politely declined. “Thank you but I’m all set. Just visiting someone.”

I walked down the corridor to her room, stopping as I reached her door. The room was empty. Her belongings were gone and the nameplate was missing from the door. I felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me.

“Can I help you officer?” a soft female voice asked from behind me.

I turned and saw a young orderly. “I’m looking for Mrs. Perkins. Ruth Perkins. Has she been moved?”

“Are you a relative?”

I pondered her question for a moment before answering. “Sort of. I just visited her yesterday.”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Perkins passed away last night.”

Many years have passed since that Christmas. I’m still a police officer with the same department. Heck, I’ve been on so long now that I get every Christmas off. I’ve never forgotten Ruth Perkins or her gift to me. Oh, I know what your thinking. That it was I who gave a great gift to her, providing her one last visit with her son. But I think of it differently. I believe she’s the one who gave me great gift, restoring my faith in humanity, helping me appreciate what I have. Her belief that I was her son was so strong and so real that I couldn’t help but feel the same love for her that she had bestowed upon me. Her faith and her love changed me forever. And isn’t that what Christmas is all about?

Writers! Vow in 2016 to make your voice heard

Maureen here, on the first day of winter.

It’s hard to believe 2015 is coming to an end. I still can’t get used to years that begin with 20.

Where’s my jet pack? Why aren’t we all living in condos on the moon? Why are we still comfortable with the same old stereotypes and predictable stories? Whoops. Sorry. I know that’s not nearly as fun as all that space-age stuff.

Seriously, though. I’ve read two books recently — nothing writing by our Maine Crime Writers of course! — that were written in the past couple of years that were very popular but I found stale and predictable. I can feel my frustration rise as I know exactly what this character is going to say. Or what the entire page of dialogue is going to be. Can predict with certainty what the “twist” is. Know without a doubt what arc that relationship is going to take.

Life is short and we’re all busy, and I found myself resenting those books for swallowing up my time.

Sure, they were popular and readers liked them. But you know what? Readers also like books that aren’t stale and predictable. They just need to be given them.

Are you writing in 2016? Here’s  your challenge — find something to say and say it in a new way.

I’m not going to say fly your jet pack to your condo on the moon, because those are my 1970s notion of what the way-off-in-the-future year 2016 would be like. No, instead, find a way to portray that unique, fascinating world you have in your head and populate it with real people who don’t conform to expected stereotypes.

Really, why write otherwise? Just to say what everyone else is saying? You don’t want to do that.

If you’re struggling to have your manuscript looked at, ask yourself if you’re really digging down deep and finding a true voice to write with.

Writing in 2016? Don’t assume you’ve found your voice. Make sure you’ve found it. Once it’s found, it will be heard.

My vow for 2016 is to not waste another minute reading books that feel familiar — in a bad way.

And my second vow is to make sure I’m writing the kind of book I want to read.

Want to join me?

Maureen Milliken is the author of Cold Hard News, the debut novel in the Bernie O’Dea series. Follow her on twitter at @mmilliken47. Like her Facebook page, Maureen Milliken mysteries.

A Photo Tour of Maine Wildlife Park

Jen Blood here! I know I’m kicking off the holiday week, and as such should definitely have a properly festive post. I actually don’t, though. I thought about it, of course, but short of sharing my Christmas list with you or going over my New Year’s resolutions, I didn’t have a lot of ideas. HOWEVER, a couple of weeks ago I had an opportunity to do an off-season photo tour of the Maine Wildlife Park, so… It seems to me that something like that is far preferable to listening to me wax philosophic about all the reasons I will eat less chocolate and more greens in 2016. Which, let’s be honest, will most likely not prove true.

For those who don’t know about Maine Wildlife Park, it’s a reserve in Gray that houses rehabilitated wildlife who are unable for a wide assortment of reasons, to return to the wild. Zoos generally tend to depress me, but MWP doesn’t really come across as a zoo – for the most part, the enclosures are expansive, and the animals seem healthy and relatively content. And after my tour in early December, it became clear that the folks who work there truly are fully invested in making certain the residents are given everything possible to maintain a quality of life many would envy.

I meet my tour guide, Courtney, at 11 a.m. on an overcast Thursday in December. My next mystery series features Jamie Flint, a trainer of search and rescue dogs who also does wildlife rescue and rehab – this, ostensibly, is why I’ve purchased this photo pass and guided tour from Maine Wildlife Park. It just happens that I’ve also been wanting to do this for years; a happy coincidence that makes me love being a writer that much more.

Courtney and I truck over to the MWP HQ, where I happily sign a couple of forms promising not to sue if I’m maimed or murdered while on the grounds. Then, we head out.

“Where do you want to start?” Courtney wants to know. I come up empty. I’ve been to MWP exactly once in my lifetime, and it was over thirty years ago. “Deer and moose, then?” she suggests.

That seems like a sound option. Courtney – who is a very cute, knowledgeable twenty-something with dark hair and a nose ring – pilots the big old truck over ruts and rocky roads and parks beside a large fenced area in the woods. My first meeting is with Pie – a piebald fawn who came to the park in the spring.

According to Courtney, the Powers That Be have held off on returning Pie to the wild because she’s had frequent urinary tract infections, and appears to be somewhat immunocompromised, something not uncommon with piebalds. Pie is a pretty brown and white fawn tame enough to come to Courtney and me, clearly interested in what we’ve brought to eat. She’s in the process of being integrated into the herd of deer who live permanently at the park, but the process is a slow one. For now, Pie is on her own. I pet the girl, get a couple of photos, and we move on to an adjacent enclosure.

Next door, a herd of deer weave through trees when Courtney and I enter the enclosure. Several huddle together against the far fence. On the other side, I can see an amorphous white figure standing alone. Pie is watching. Courtney and I move farther in while she explains that many of the deer have been here since they were fawns. They are relatively tame by wildlife standards, but still watchful. As we move farther in, I spot a rack of antlers atop a big buck lying peacefully in the leaves.

“That’s Jay,” Courtney tells me. “He’s pretty friendly.”

I take a photo, waiting for him to get up. He doesn’t. I take another. Step a few feet closer. He watches me with what I take as slight disdain, but he doesn’t move. Since I don’t want to stress him, I decide to retreat, and Courtney and I begin to walk toward the other side of the enclosure. I’m vaguely aware that Pie is still standing at the other side of the fence, watching the other deer. Then, Jay gets up. He’s a big guy with impressive antlers and a peaceful, quiet way about him. And he’s coming straight toward us.

“Just don’t make any sudden moves,” Courtney tells me as Jay walks up to me. He gives my coat an experimental lick. Apparently, he likes what he tastes; he takes another lick. And another. Five minutes later, the left arm of my jacket is wet through. I have to move back periodically so I’m not impaled by his antlers, but otherwise the meeting is amicable. Courtney tells me the bucks don’t usually tolerate being touched or petted, but Jay doesn’t seem to know this. I experimentally set my hand on his broad neck. He eyes me for a split second before returning to my delicious coat. Ultimately, I’m the one who has to make the move to leave – there are still a lot of animals to see. I think I could happily have spent the whole afternoon with Jay, though.

As we’re leaving the enclosure, the other deer in the herd take off running along the perimeter of the fence. On the other side, a white figure runs with them. Courtney is clearly pleased.

“This means she’s starting to be interested in the herd,” she tells me. Pie does indeed appear to be interested, continuing to nose along her side of the fence while the others ignore her. Courtney tells me the fact that they’re paying her no mind is a good sign. Integration shouldn’t be hard from here.

After the deer, we visit the moose. I feed them bananas and sweet potatoes. I fall in love with George, a twelve-year-old bull moose who has an enclosure to himself. George has a white muzzle and kind eyes, and he stands patiently while I stroke his nose and hand over more bananas.

From there, we move on to the coyote enclosure. “She won’t come near,” Courtney tells me, “but we can go inside.”

I’m uncertain, but thrilled at the same time. Wolves and coyotes have long been a fascination of mine – it’s the dog lover in me, I suppose. We go into the enclosure, and Courtney shuts the door behind us. In the brush, my guide points out a coyote who gets up as soon as we set foot inside. She’s clearly nervous, so we stay put as the beautiful girl circles us a few times, never getting close. Courtney and I talk about the difficulties inherent in trying to keep this environment as stress-free as possible while simultaneously welcoming increasing numbers of wildlife fans into the park.

“Stress management is at least fifty percent of our job,” she tells me. Courtney comes from a background in true wildlife rehab, in which the goal is to have as little interaction with the injured animal as possible so it can return safely to the wild. Knowing that the wildlife here will remain captive for the rest of their lives is a whole new ballgame. “I love it here,” she tells me. “They really do incredible work, and always make the well-being of the animals the priority. But it’s been an adjustment.”

We leave the coyote enclosure and keep moving. I go inside an enclosure with two lynx kits, a brother and sister, though Courtney tells me they aren’t particularly friendly. “Just don’t turn your back on them,” she says. I think it’s a joke, but I’m not completely sure. I hope so, since they’re on opposite ends of the enclosure – not turning my back on at least one of them isn’t really an option. The female is on the ground, the male up high. When I turn my back on the female, I take a couple of steps. I turn around, and she’s moved closer. Watching me with what seem very sad eyes, all the while.

A bobcat named Bob paces around me inside the next enclosure. “Sometimes he pees on people, so watch out,” Courtney tells her. I assure her that I’m all right with being peed on by a bobcat. Mauled, no. Pee presumably comes out in the wash, though.

We leave the bobcats (without incident or accident) and move on to a gorgeous mountain lion in an enclosure alone. Courtney tells me they’re trying to find a mate for her, but mountain lions are in high demand. MWP isn’t a proponent of breeding in captivity, which means they have to wait until a mountain lion comes to them from somewhere else – perhaps a circus or other performance venue looking to retire someone, or a zoo interested in a trade. The lion purrs and turns herself inside out while we remain outside the enclosure. She butts up against the fencing like an overgrown pussycat, then “chases” Courtney up and down the hill a couple of times, Courtney on one side of the fence, mountain lion on the other.

The wild birds are our last stop. While I’ve been filled with wonder this whole afternoon, an increasing sense of sadness has crept up over the course of the day. I’m grateful for MWP and the role they play in educating the public and providing a safe haven for injured wildlife, but there’s still something unsettling about seeing animals in captivity. The birds really bring this home, as several housed here have no mates right now. They watch uneasily as I snap my photos and talk quietly with Courtney.

There are owls and hawks, turkeys and peacocks and a gorgeous bald eagle who renders me speechless. “We were using him for educational visits, but we retired him,” Courtney tells me. “He was getting too stressed out. Birds especially have a hard time with that kind of thing, and the last thing we want to do is make things harder for them.”

And that, to me, is the crux of this. In an ideal world, all of these guys would be out in the wild where they belong. But sadly, this isn’t an ideal world. And as long as animals are being struck by cars or displaced by shrinking habitats or raised for our entertainment by zoos or individuals, I’m grateful that a place like MWP exists — a place where the priority is the well-being of the animals they serve, the staff are passionate and knowledgeable about their jobs, and an emphasis on education and forward movement seems perpetually on the agenda. So, thanks to MWP and Courtney for a moving, educational day among the wilds of this great state. I definitely won’t forget it.

Jen is a freelance writer, and author of the bestselling Erin Solomon mysteries. To get your free Jen Blood Starter Library, visit www.jenblood.com. The first Jamie Flint mystery will debut in the spring of 2016. 

Weekend Update: December 19-20, 2015

Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be posts by Jen Blood (Monday), Maureen Milliken (Tuesday), and Bruce Coffin (Wednesday), with a special Holiday Group Post Thursday and Friday.

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

from Kaitlyn Dunnett: I don’t think I’ve shared this here yet. It’s the cover for the 10th Liss MacCrimmon mystery, Kilt at the Highland Games, which will be published at the end of July.

What do you think?

 

 

 

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: mailto: kateflora@gmail.com

Merry Christmas!

And happiest of holidays from Lea Wait!

Christmas has always been my favorite time of year. I shop for gifts all year round, I look forward to the delicious food that is part of the season. I love Christmas carols and sentimental movies. And I collect Santas and other Christmas decorations.

When I lived in New York City I loved to take long walks, looking at decorated store windows and Rockefeller Plaza, and, later, when I lived in New Jersey, I took my daughters and mother to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center.

My home was the place where my single adoptive parent friends and their children gathered, 100-200 strong, to celebrate Christmas early in December. And my extended family gathered at my home Christmas Eve every year.

It was all exhausting, but I loved every minute of it. 

But years have passed since I celebrated joyously with my daughters and sisters and  mother … time moves on, and my family has dispersed.  I’ve married, and my husband, is, if not an absolute Grinch … well, I’ll just say Christmas is not HIS favorite time of year.

So my Christmases have been pared down over the years. Some years we haven’t had a big tree; most years diets dictate Christmas cookies be held to a minimum. My husband and I don’t exchange gifts, so the only gifts under the tree are delivered by the post office or UPS and come from loved ones far away.

Still, I decorate the house, and send Christmas cards and plan special food for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and I play Christmas carols, and watch sentimental movies. And Christmas, if not spectacular, is still a wonderful time of year.

So, today, I’m inviting you to peek at a few of the decorations that fill my home in December. Welcome — and Happiest of Holidays! 

DECEMBER CRIME ODDITIES

Susan Vaughan here. Because this is a crime writers’ site, crime being one of the key words, I thought I’d check out interesting crimes during the month of December.

According to FBI statistics of crimes reported to law enforcement agencies, violent crime increases during the summer months and decreases through the colder months, although thefts and robberies increase slightly in December. Due to Christmas shopping, maybe. My research didn’t turn up any weird or fascinating or humorous December crimes in Maine, but here are ones in other states.



FOOD HEIST #1… Just this December, a man in Albuquerque, New Mexico, craved his mother’s posole, a traditional Mexican stew so much that he stole it. The twenty-three-year-old ignored his mother’s refusal to give him the dish, so he broke in and ran off with the entire pot. Posole is traditionally made with pork, peppers, beans, and sometimes beef tripe. This recipe for Posole omits the tripe. The son was arrested on a residential burglary charge. No gift for him from mama this year, and nada from Santa.



FOOD HEIST #2… Also this December, in Syracuse, New York, a father and son stole more than $40,000 worth of chicken wings from the restaurant where they worked as cooks. The sheriff’s office said the men placed large chicken wing orders with the restaurant’s wholesaler over eight months time. Apparently the two sold their loot on the street and to other businesses. They’ve been charged with grand larceny and falsifying business records. I can’t imagine how the restaurant owner or bookkeeper didn’t pick up on this boom in chicken wings! Hmm, I wonder if they’re a “flight” risk.



THE CHIP HEIST (not food)… Now for a crime that yielded a much bigger haul, in Las Vegas. In December 2010, a man wearing a motorcycle helmet strolled into the Bellagio Hotel and Casino and held up a craps dealer at gunpoint. The robber ran back through the casino and sped off on his motorcycle, which he’d left parked just outside. His take? $1.5 million, but in chips that would have to be cashed in at the Bellagio or sold to a third party. Weeks later, when the brazen Biker Bandit then offered to sell some of the chips online, undercover police nabbed him. Facts emerged that after the theft, the Biker Bandit returned to the Bellagio to gamble and drink. While casing his target, he stayed at that hotel. Three weeks before, he’d robbed another casino. In an ironic twist, he was the son of a local judge. He received a sentence of three to eleven years for his crimes. And Santa repossessed the bike.



CRYPTIC CLUE MURDER… Finally, here’s a murder with an unusual coincidence. In December 1983, in Hialeah, Florida, a Hispanic man was found strangled to death in a vacant lot. This murder baffled police at first because of cryptic notes discovered at the scene. A plastic bag taped behind a nearby “no dumping” sign contained a poem: “Now the motive is clear and the victim is too. You’ve got all the answers. Just follow the clues.” There was also a riddle that led police to the next clue taped behind a speed limit sign. This poem was equally strange and also gruesome: “Yes, Matthew is dead, but his body not felt. Those brains were not Matt’s because his body did melt…” Eventually the police found an innocent explanation for this confusing mystery. On Halloween, four churches had set up a murder mystery game in which participants created fictitious crimes that involved hiding rhyming clues around the area. The night of the game, a rainstorm forced them to cancel, but the clues were left in place. The real death was a macabre coincidence. Later, the victim was identified and his murder appeared to be related to drug smuggling. Does anyone else think it strange that church groups would organize a murder mystery game, even on Halloween? What would Santa do?

***

My latest release is ALWAYS A SUSPECT, the prequel to my Task Force Eagle series. Not a Christmas story, but it does take place during the holidays. You can find more information about my books at my website.

Plotting: The Thirty Thousand-Foot View

D.A. Keeley here. I’m honored to be invited to write a guest post for the Maine Crime Writers blog. I grew up in Readfield, lived in Presque Isle for a decade, and own a home in Old Orchard Beach. So, although I now work out of state, I consider myself a Maine Crime Writer at heart.

One more plea to be granted Mainer status: I write a series set in Aroostook County, a place close to my heart. My sleuth Peyton Cote is a single mother and U.S. Customs and Border Protection agent working in the fictional town of Garrett, where Fort Fairfield would probably appear on the map.

This fall I’ve been busy. My three-book contract with Midnight Ink is up. The June 2016 book, Destiny’s Pawn, is in production, and I’m pleased that my agent reports Midnight Ink wants to continue the series. This means at least one more Peyton Cote novel. Some writers don’t want to get locked into long-term commitments. However, by day, I chair the English department at Northfield Mount Hermon School, might be the only crime fiction writer to be dorm parent to 60 teenagers, teach AP English and Crime Fiction, and serve as the assistant director of the NMH Summer School. More importantly, I’m a husband, and a dad to 17-, 14-, and 7-year-old daughters (Delaney, Audrey, and Keeley — can you guess where the pseudonym comes from?). This leaves little free time. I write from 4-6 a.m.

Due to these commitments, I don’t want to write on spec: I’m hoping for another multi-book contract — a goal that means producing a three-book series outline, a task that is far from natural to me.

I once attended a keynote address given by Jeffery Deaver who explained that he writes 100-page outlines for 300-page novels. Similarly, my friend Clyde Phillips, executive producer and writer for Dexter and other shows, creates the arc for entire TV seasons and outlines his Jane Candiotti novels in similar fashion.

For me, creating a story arc that spans three books, offers detailed plotlines, and character developments  (including — spoiler alert — a marriage and a new and recurring antagonist) is a new process. And one that is hard as hell. It’s taken all fall. I write procedural novels that revolve around a woman whose primary professional task is to protect the U.S. from acts of terror. The landscape of terrorism changes hourly, so predicting what Peyton’s life will be like two or three years from now is not easy.

Also, I’m just not wired like Deaver or Phillips. To me, writing is like driving at night. I write to the end of my headlights, see where I’m at, and drive on. Likewise, we all write the books we’d like to read. I get jazzed by compelling characters and crisp dialogue; plot is always secondary. So creating a plot line and character arcs for what amounts to 1,200+ pages isn’t, as my grandmother in Augusta used to say, my cup of tea. Prior to this fall, my “outlines” only consisted of character sketches, detailed backstories and motivations for the book’s major players. The subsequent composing process meant taking those characters, putting them on the stage, giving them one or more conflicts, and seeing what they do.

The three-book outline is now finished and off to my publisher for review, and my fingers are crossed. The work was hard but valuable. Beginning with a story arc and outlining are new strategies for me — and a lot more work up front. But, if I can execute the plots well, the books should be fast-paced and tight.

I’m rolling the dice and betting on plotting, hoping that starting with a thirty thousand-foot view will make for better mysteries.

As D.A. Keeley, John Corrigan was a 2015 Maine Literary Award finalist.

BIO

D.A. Keeley is John R. Corrigan and K.A. Delaney and the author of nine novels. Most recently, Keeley is author of the U.S. Customs and Border Protection Agent Peyton Cote series, set along the Maine-Canada border. Bitter Crossing (2014) was a Maine Literary Award finalist. It was followed by Fallen Sparrow (2015). Destiny’s Pawn will be published in June 2016. Keeley was born in Augusta, Maine, and lives with his wife and three daughters at Northfield Mount Hermon School in western Massachusetts, where he is English department chair. A Mainer through and through, he tries to get to Old Orchard Beach, Maine, as often as possible. You can see what he’s up to by visitingwww.amazon.com/author/DAKeeley ordakeeleyauthor.blogspot.com or on Twitter (@DAKeeleyAuthor).

 

A Writer’s Year

By Noel Farquar, author of The Mean Streets and Fire Hydrants of Chicago, Ballou O’Brien Mystery#1

January: So full of happy expectations for the New Year. Must complete 85,000 word second-in-series mystery by November. First-in-series Amazon ranking currently 211,111 on the hardcover. Feeling optimistic. Only challenge to productivity is spouse who keeps coming into study and muttering about snow removal. Doesn’t she know I have a novel due? Word count so far: 7345. Onward!

February: Oh happy day! Publisher has dropped the price on my ebook to $1.99 for the month. Amazon ranking has zoomed up to 25,436 and I am Number One on the Amazon Bestseller List for Kindle ->Mystery, Thriller, Suspense -> Mystery -> Hardboiled ->Male PI ->Chicago Setting -> In the 1970s ->From Canine Point of View! Ahead of even Seymour Blatsky, the king of the subgenre. Gave in to urge to text Blatsky, “Suck it!” Let’s see him pretend he doesn’t know me at Bouchercon this year, even though we’ve been on the same panel four years running. No response so far. May have texted a few more times. Total Word count 10,712. Hard to write when you are checking Amazon ranking hourly. Also, spouse has been coming into study, dripping on carpet, and waving snow shovel in menacing manner. What does she want, some kind of credit? She lives here, too.

March: Alas, ebook price has returned to $12.38 and Blatsky has returned to the Number One slot at Kindle ->Mystery, Thriller, Suspense -> Mystery -> Hardboiled ->Male PI ->Chicago Setting -> In the 1970s ->From Canine Point of View. Curse you, Seymour Blatsky, undisputed owner of 1970s Chicago, as seen by a dog. BTW, he finally texted back. “Who is this?” As if he didn’t know. Can also report all that snow shoveling has made spouse eerily strong. Total Word Count 15,170.

April: The Amazon reviews have started rolling in from my former period of heavy sales. Tell me please, what do these mean?

Hated it. The dog had such a co-dependent personality. He should see a shrink, LOL. Will not read another.

Could not put it down. Best book I have ever read. Can’t wait for the next one!

Please stop sending me these surveys. As I’ve said, time and again, I’ll review the books if I want to.

He’s no Blatsky.

 

Total Word Count 18,756. Exhausted from hourly check for new Amazon reviews. Also, Goodreads.

May: Unexpected call from agent today. Forget, since we rarely talk on phone, how young she is. Anyway, news not good. She’s heard some rumors. Bad winds blowing. Any chance I can turn my second-in-series in early? I tell her this is “unlikely” (given that I only have 20,013 words–I do not tell her this). She says, the sooner I have it in and on the editorial calendar for next year, the better. Nuf said. I ask, given my February performance on Kindle ->Mystery, Thriller, Suspense -> Mystery -> Hardboiled ->Male PI ->Chicago Setting -> In the 1970s ->From Canine Point of View, am I not safe? She is unimpressed.

June: Book Jail. Spouse is leaving sandwiches outside study door and muttering things about a “summer vacation.” “Don’t you know I have a novel to write?” More muttering. Good news: Total Word Count 50,347.

July: Book Jail. No sandwiches. Perhaps spouse has gone on vacation of which she spoke? Have had many pleasant chats with pizza delivery kid. Total Word Count 75,236. We’re on our way, baby!

August: Another call from agent. Publisher has merged, or more accurately, “been absorbed.” New guidelines: will only publish authors who own Number One in their Amazon Bestseller List category, and since the merger “partner” publishes Blatsky, I am on the chopping block. My editor thinks I have a shot of hanging in if I shift my novel from Chicago 1970s to Seattle 1980s and switch out dog for cat. I protest, have never been to Seattle, don’t know anything about 1980s, and am allergic to cats. Agent’s response, “That’s what Google is for.” Total Word Count -25,567. Also, spouse has not returned.

September: Seattle in 1980s turns out to be fascinating time. Cats, though, are bastards. Doing my best to make this one likable. No chance he’ll be co-dependent, though, LOL! Total Word Count 85,974. First draft is done! Still no sign of spouse. Several items of furniture and electronics also missing.

October: Bouchercon. Once again I am on panel on 1970s Chicago from canine point of view with Blatsky. “Nice to meet you,” he sniffs when we are introduced. Nice to meet you! This is our fifth panel together. Of course, am wondering about the wisdom of paying all this money and flying all this way, especially on a deadline, to be on panel about 1970s Chicago with a dog, when my series is apparently now set in 1980s Seattle with cat. Ah, well. Total Word Count 86,456. Returned exhausted to find marital bed removed from home.

November: Received royalty check for period January-June. Apparently, number one spot on Kindle ->Mystery, Thriller, Suspense -> Mystery -> Hardboiled ->Male PI ->Chicago Setting -> In the 1970s ->From Canine Point of View not as lucrative as I’d hoped. Puts me in a bit of a jam as spouse has unaccountably stopped paying utility bills. In good news, will be sending The Grungy Streets and Sand Boxes of Seattle, Snuffles O’Brien Mystery#1 to editor tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

December: Another call from agent. The bad news, editor has been sacked. The good news, new editor loves manuscript and is prepared not only to publish but to offer additional two book deal if I can change story back to 1970s Chicago with dog, by first of the year. Can I! Have nothing but time on my hands now that I am burning remaining furniture for heat, recharging laptop in car, and typing by firelight. Feeling so lucky. God, I love this life!

Hope you had a great year, too. Happy Holidays to all, and Good Bless Us Everyone!

Weekend Update: December 12-13, 2015

Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be posts by Dorothy Cannell (Monday), Barb Ross (Tuesday), special guest John Corrigan (Wednesday), Susan Vaughan (Thursday), and Lea Wait (Friday).

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

from Kathy Lynn Emerson: I’ll be guest blogging at Dru’s Book Musings on Wednesday, with a giveaway of one copy of Murder in the Merchant’s Hall on offer.

 

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: mailto: kateflora@gmail.com

The Inevitable Cat

Kathy Lynn Emerson/Kaitlyn Dunnett here, blatantly plugging Murder in the Merchant’s Hall, available in hardcover and ebook formats in the U.S. since December 1. The Mistress Jaffrey Mysteries, Murder in the Queen’s Wardrobe and Murder in the Merchant’s Hall, are hybrids. Each of these novels combines murder with espionage. The publisher labels them thrillers. They are set in the sixteenth century, so they are also in the historical genre. There is a story arc/subplot involving the personal life of my sleuth and sometime spy, Rosamond Jaffrey. But when it comes to finding out who dunnit, Rosamond is an amateur, not a professional. The novels contain a minimum of gore and there is no gratuitous sex or violence. The mystery is centered on a closed community—the very definition of a traditional mystery. And, since I write at the cozy end of the traditional spectrum there is, of course, a cat.

Don’t groan! There are very good reasons for including animals, particularly cats, in mystery novels. Top of the list, naturally, is that the author has cats, loves cats, and can’t resist writing about them. I plead guilty to those charges. The cat in the Mistress Jaffrey Mysteries is modeled after Feral, one of the three felines who currently share our home. Beyond that, however, cats can serve several useful purposes in fiction.

They humanize their owners. Rosamond is not the easiest person to like. She’s prickly, defensive, too well-educated to fit easily into a male-dominated society. As a child, she was spoiled rotten. She has also inherited the worst characteristics of both of her parents, neither of whom was exactly a paragon of virtue. Rosamond is wary of showing  affection to other people, even her own husband, who was her best friend growing up. Since she clearly needs a relationship to show her in a softer, gentler light, I gave her Watling, a large gray and white striped cat she rescued when he was a kitten. She named him for the place she found him, Watling Street, the old Roman road that runs from London into Kent.

Cats may not function as well as dogs when it comes to standing guard or hunting game, but they are no slouches when it comes to defending their territory. They are also good judges of character. If a cat takes a dislike to someone, that may not mark that person as the villain of the piece, but it does send a clear signal to be wary of him or her. By the same token, if Watling allows anyone other than Rosamond to pick him up, hold him, or pet him, you may be sure that person is one of the good guys.

In Murder in the Queen’s Wardrobe, Watling signaled his approval of one particular character. When Rosamond had to be absent from home for an extended period of time, that person was the only one who could get Watling to stop howling all night long. I must add an aside here. Feral, the model for Watling, does not howl. He doesn’t even meow. He’s the most silent cat we’ve ever owned. Perhaps that’s why I made Watling obnoxiously loud.

This, too, qualifies as “hunting”

In Murder in the Merchant’s Hall, Watling has a more important role, that of distracting the men who come to search Rosamond’s house. He performs it admirably, and once again makes it clear which characters are wearing the white hats.

What does Feral think of all this? Silent as always, he’s not saying, but since the two other cats with whom he shares our home are featured players in the contemporary mystery series I write as Kaitlyn Dunnett, I expect he feels it’s about time he had his fifteen minutes of fame.

What do you think about using cats or other animals as continuing characters in mysteries? And if you see a cat on a cover, do you automatically think “cozy”?

 

 

Kathy Lynn Emerson/Kaitlyn Dunnett is the author of over fifty books written under several names. She won the Agatha Award in 2008 for best mystery nonfiction for How to Write Killer Historical Mysteries and was an Agatha Award finalist in 2014 in the best mystery short story category for “The Blessing Witch.” Currently she writes the contemporary Liss MacCrimmon Mysteries (The Scottie Barked at Midnight) as Kaitlyn and the historical Mistress Jaffrey Mysteries (Murder in the Merchant’s Hall) as Kathy. The latter series is a spin-off from her earlier “Face Down” series and is set in Elizabethan England. Her websites are www.KathyLynnEmerson.com and www.KaitlynDunnett.com