Kathy Lynn Emerson's Blog, page 9

For Fredom Alone: A Story of the Scottish Highland Clearances

Lea Wait, here. If you were told you only had a limited amount of time get your life in order, what would you do?

One thing I’ve decided to do is publish two books that readers, librarians and teachers have asked for, but that, for an assortment of reasons, have not been published before this. One of these (available soon, but not this week) is an historical set in 1848 Scotland.

Why did I write it? Because although today between nine and twenty million Americans claim Scottish descent, a surprisingly small number of them know the combination of circumstances that led their  ancestors to leave their homelands in the Highlands of Scotland. FOR FREEEDOM ALONE is the story of one such family. Here’s where title comes from:

“It is not for glory we fight, for riches or for honours, but for freedom alone, which no good man loses but with his life.” — Declaration of Arbroath, 1324. A  Letter from lords and bishops of Scotland to Pope John XXI, insisting on recognition of Scotland’s independence and on the sovereignty of their king, Robert I

And here’s the prequel. It sets that stage for one family’s struggle to survive in the slums of an Edinburgh full of displaced Highlanders, those escaping the Irish potato famines, and others whose skills are no longer necessary because of the industrial revolution.[image error]

“Faither, tell us again. Tell us about mother and how brave she was.” Every night after the sun had set Faither told Meggie, Rab and Kirstie a tale. His stories were of Scotland’s proud history, or of Faither’s own life, or legends whose origin no one knew, and whose truth no one could vouch for. But this story was Rab’s favorite, because it was true, and it was about his own mother.

Faither lifted three-year-old Kirstie onto his knee, and began. “It was the spring of 1843. Green sprouts of heather were pushing their way up between the rocks on the steep hills overlooking the glen through which our Calvie River ran, clear and fine. The men were in the hills looking after the few Highland cattle that were yet ours, but the women were to home when a lad from a neighboring glen brought word Sheriff Taylor was coming to order us all to leave our lands.

“Lands we Rosses had farmed fer more than five hundred long years. Land we paid rent fer every month, as the laws said, to an Englishman, Major Charles Robertson, himself stationed with his regiment in Australia.” Faither looked at each of his three children proudly as he added. “Yer two grandfaithers served in the British Army. My own dear faither died in service in India, and your mother’s faither was in the Royal Regiment.”

“We know, Faither,” said Rab, leaning in. “Tell the part about Mother.”

“We’d feared it would happen. English called us savages. They wanted us gone from our cottages so they could fill Highland hills and glens with fancy Cheviot sheep, and with red deer fer English gentlemen to hunt. So when word came, the women of Glencalvie, one or more from each of its eighteen families, went to meet Sheriff Taylor. Yer mother, the brave Kirsten, my own dear wife, was one of those women, despite being heavy with you, Kirstie.”

“I was with them, too, Faither,” put in Meggie, as she always did when he got to this part of the story. “I was twelve, and I went with the women. Mother said I’d see what the world was truly like. I saw it all.”

“Indeed ye did, lassie; indeed ye did. Ye all walked the path toward the east end of the valley; a path so steep cattle sometimes stumbled along it. And ye women confronted Sheriff Taylor and three of his men just beyond the boundary of Glencalvie.

“`Ye shall not enter our valley,’ said yer mother, firmly and truly. And despite the men’s strength, our brave women held them back and forced up the hand that held the eviction notice. Young Mary Mathieson, not much older than ye are now, Meggie, set fire to that notice with a live coal she’d carried up from the valley in a leather pouch. And once the papers were burned and the men let go the women turned and headed down the slope to their homes. Until one of those cowardly men looked after them and fired a gun, and Mary Mathieson fell to the ground, shot in the ba

Meggie nodded, remembering, as Faither reached over and touched her arm under the heavy red and green plaid tartan she’d wrapped around herself. He looked at Rab and then down at Kirstie, in his lap. “Meggie and yer mother helped carry Mary to her home to die, a heroine of Glencalvie, and then returned to our own cottage, where yer mother gave birth to you that very night, my dear little Kirstie.”

Kirstie hugged Faither and he buried his face in her tangled brown curls.

“And then mother died,” ended Meggie. “And we lived one year more in Glencalvie before the English came again. In 1844 there were more of them, and they were fiercer. They burned our homes and drove us out of Glencalvie forever.”

“They did,” Faither said grimly. “And since then these many months we have been traveling to find a place that will welcome us.”

“A place where we will be free to have a home,” said Meggie.

“And jobs,” said Faither.

“And food,” said Rab, thinking of his stomach, which had been empty so long.

“Edinburgh is the capital of Scotland,” said Faither. “We are Scots. We are going to Edinburgh.”

For more about FOR FREEDOM ALONE, stay tuned!

 

 

Everything’s a Threat If You Look at it Right

First off, many many thanks to MWPA for selecting In Solo Time as winner of the Maine Literary Award for Crime Fiction for 2018.[image error]

I’m both honored and humbled, knowing the caliber of the writers we have here in Maine.

Second, a reminder of two bookish events in July. The fourteenth annual Books in Boothbay [image error]takes place on July 14 from 9 AM to 1 PM at the Boothbay Railway Museum, where you can meet more than 35 of Maine’s best writers of all kinds. Admission is free—love to see you there.

And this year for the first time, I will be taking part in the Beyond the Sea Book Festival in Lincolnville Beach on July 21, 10:30 AM to 3:30 PM, just up the road from Camden. Check out the list for many familiar names.

And thus, to this month’s musing:

Taking a long walk along the harbor out to Bug Light on a hot Sunday morning and Anne and I walk past a backyard with a tall yellow sign with the legend Crude Oil Pipeline Runs Through Here.[image error]

“Not growing any tomatoes in there,” I say as we power-walk past.

“Why not?” my good wife asks politely, used to my spiraling flights of fancy.

“Pipelines? Oil? I suppose unless you wanted to grow tiki torch tomatoes.”

“It’s not going to bother your hypothetical tomatoes. The oil is inside the pipe.”

“Exxon Valdez? Keystone XL. Pipeline bursts in the Dakotas? Environmental disasters? The seepage would poison the soil. You couldn’t grow anything healthy.”

“You are such a negative person.”

Thus endeth that conversation.

But later, holding tight to my sweating can of Veridian and half-watching a Red Sox blowout of the hapless Nats, I ponder her accusation in the context of how I spend most of my time, putting characters in ugly and criminal situations, and decide that, no, it’s not negativity but a firm understanding of the threat in every little thing.

Because that’s what we crime writers need, isn’t it? When we settle down to tell our stories of people and worlds devastated by illegal and immoral activities, then try to set those worlds right? In pursuit of keeping our readers engaged, we turn every possible thing into a threat, an opposition for our characters to overcome.

I’m reminded of a throwaway paragraph in an Annie Proulx story about how the farmer used to mix arsenic and corn in a pan to keep the raccoons out of his garden and his wife didn’t wash out the roaster before cooking the Christmas turkey. [image error]And what happened after.

Some threats may be overt and some may not, but often we have to find the most surprising threat in something fairly innocent-looking, just to hold our readers’ interest. We want you to say “I never thought of that.”

For if we didn’t see the possible threats in everyday situations, how could we, dear reader, scare the pants off you? And if we couldn’t scare you, how on earth would we keep you tied up long enough to tell our story, then put the world back together when we’re done? So in a sense? It’s on you.

Because if the pipeline doesn’t crack, then the tomatoes wouldn’t grow full of carcinogens, [image error]and the gift of summer produce to the neighbor with the noisy Chihuahua wouldn’t kill him (the neighbor or the vegetable-loving dog?) undetectably. And what fun would that be?

Weekend Update: July 7-8, 2018

[image error]Next week at Maine Crime Writers, there will posts by Dick Cass (Monday) Lea Wait (Tuesday), Barb Ross (Wednesday), John Clark (Thursday), and William Andrews (Friday).

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

For those of you who have been following our “Where Would You Put The Body” contest, the judges have had a hard time coming up with a winner, but at last, after blows were struck and expletives were exchanged, there is a winner, and a couple of runners up, who will receive books, in tote bags if we can find them in the MCW storehouse (which looks like your grandmother’s attic.)

Our winner is Elizabeth Pajak, and here is her photo and her description of why she chose this place to put the body:

I dressed Jim’s body in his red union suit, wool overalls, down vest, overcoat, red wool Stormy Kromer cap and a stout pair of Sorel boots, and stood him up next to the wood pile, his favorite Wintertime spot. He was at home there, and would pass unnoticed until at least June 6 when the snow began to melt…

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And our runners up are:

Stephen Dorneman, who sent this:

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and said this: Two snuck past the National Guard to see for themselves the lava flow. Only one came back.

Kevin St. Jarre ( who, when queried about what he’d do with the rest of the body, sent a follow-up photo. Brace yourselves, readers.

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Kevin says: Find-A-Home Rescue…

“We take care of 40-50 four-legged fur babies while we find them forever-homes.”

We have two 40-lb dogs that eat two raw chicken drumsticks per night,

and will go through cattle thigh-knuckle bone in an afternoon.

Imagine what 40 would be able to do in an afternoon. Organ meat no

problem either.

We at Maine Crime Writers think you are all brilliant, and maybe, if we can afford it, we’ll send you all a prize. Thanks for entering the contest.

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

A Refreshing Dip in a Maine Ocean?

[image error]Kate Flora: Although the past week’s heat has temporarily made us forget, summer has taken its time arriving in Maine this year. A few weeks ago, we were still turning the heat on in the early morning and evening, and the gardens were dawdling, not ready to commit to growth and flowers. But today was utterly gorgeous. Warm sun, blue sea, refreshing breezes.

 

We’re on the ocean, and when it is finally warm enough for a swim in the sea differs every summer. Sometimes it takes until mid-July. Sometimes an early chill ends swimming by Labor Day. This year, I despaired of it ever warming up.

I have no idea why swimming is so important to me, or why it is, to me, the essence of summer. I guess it’s because we lived on a lake, growing up, and the lake was the center of so much family activity. After John, Sara, and I had done our chores, we would be allowed to go down to the pond and swim. My mother had many rules, of course. There was the “wait an hour after eating” rule. There was the “you have to throw twenty rocks out of the pond” rule, which resulted, over many years with a swimming area that had a sandy bottom. There was always leaf mulch to rakes up from the shore, drained in old wire egg baskets, and used a mulch in the garden. There was the necessity for an adult to be present.

Often, as we swam there, friends and neighbors would arrive. The adults would swim, then sit on the shore and catch up while kids swam. Yes, we swam until our lips were blue. Then we could up to and lie in the field on our towels, warming up to go do it again. Stately loons would swim by, indifferent to our presence.

 

Today, the ocean was finally warm enough for a swim, and so summer has officially begun. I hope summer will also include blueberry picking, jam making, and lots of gardening, including a new strategy to protect my delphinium from the slugs. And wonderful sunsets.

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What rituals or events are the essence of summer for you?

What Do You Recommend? Groan. (Must Be Summer in Maine)

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Trevett Store. Lobster or crab rolls hanging over the water.

 

It’s July! When everyone in the world you know suddenly decides it’s time to visit me in Maine. I am often sure the “Maine” part looms large over the “me” part. But it’s time to arm yourself with a great list of things for them to do, things for them to treat you to, and things that are off the beaten-Maine-path. And that’s a deep rut considering about 37 million tourists will beat down well-trodden paths, mostly in the summer.

I grew up in East Boothbay, Maine and waitressed my way through high school, college, and graduate school, answering millions of questions like this: “What is there to do here?”

Of course I never had a good answer for young, restless men asking about “night life,” except to tell them to wait for phosphorescence late at night and stick their hands in the ocean so their fingers glow with millions of tiny, tiny, sea creatures. That shut them up. But for the rest I had a treasure trove of local secrets that I dispensed only to those I thought deserved them.

Decades later my husband and I are working part time summer jobs that are not very part time it seems, He hasn’t cut the lawn and I am way behind my schedule to launch my second mystery, “Deadly Turn.” My first mystery, “Deadly Trespass,” (a finalist in this year’s Maine Literary Awards), had some warnings about what happens when we lose a place to over-use or over-commercialization. I am writing about Maine’s north woods, where the pressures to cover up the natural world with bathrooms and wine bars seem far off, but the warnings are all over Boothbay.

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Oven’s Mouth Preserve

Don’t get me wrong, Boothbay is an amazing and stunning place, but if it weren’t for locals willing to share secrets, visionary folks at local land trusts working hard to conserve bits of the peninsula, and Maine’s Public Lands, there’d be no place to explore beyond down town.

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Maine brews: Maine Foodie Tours

Husband Bob works as a caption for the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens ocean tours and I am helping award-winning Maine Foodie Tours (already very successful in Portland and Bar Harbor) open up tasting tours in Boothbay Harbor. There is absolutely nothing wrong with starting the day with prosecco and blueberry delights overlooking the ocean and then eating our way across town through oysters, lobster rolls, haddock tacos, and Maine-made cheeses. https://www.mainefoodietours.com/

People love the tours, but they are still asking where they can find a bit of “real” Boothbay. A bit of “real” Maine.

Because I write about and love the “real” Maine, here are some insider tips I reserve for the deserving.

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Ocean Point, Grimes Cove

Clearly, those who read the Maine Crime Writers blog are very deserving. Enjoy!

Ocean Point: can be mobbed, but it has the big surf (when it’s up). Drive to Grimes Cove but park on the left in public parking before you get there. At the small pocket beach (loved by kids) walk left on the rocks until you get a bit around the corner. Do NOT walk on folks’ lawns, but the rocks are perfectly OK and legal. Just nestle into a rocky nook and see nothing but islands and ocean until there’s Spain.

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Knickercane Park, on way to Barter’s Island

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Murray Hill, East Boothbay; Linekin Bay

Picnic Spots: Boat launches. (All over Maine, look for the public boat launches and there will always be access to water and very often, picnic tables. I travel with fold-in-the-bag chairs so enjoying these spots is easy.) And if you have kids, at low tide there’s much to explore. Knickercane Park on the Barter’s Island Road has protected ocean, a lovely trail overlooking a lobster pound, and even toilet facilities. Past the park is Trevett Store. Don’t’ miss it. East Boothbay is my favorite. Park at Shipbuilders Park (end of School Street). Walk up to the East Boothbay Store. Get amazing takeout sandwiches (will be busy). Walk down Murray Hill Rd. to the boat launch where all of Linekin Bay will be spread out before you. Walk a bit further to the public dock and great swimming as the ocean water is warmer coming up over extensive clam flats.

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Shipbuilders Park, East Boothbay

Dog Walking: Always done best early, very early in the AM. My dogs love the Oven’s Mouth Preserve’s extensive trails http://www.bbrlt.org/ as well as Dodge Point trails that lead to salt marsh beaches on the Damariscotta River. http://www.damariscottariver.org/trail/dodge-point-public-reserved-land/ Go early before folks are really up; clean up dog poop please, and wear long pants and tuck them into good shoes and spray pants with anything Deet. (Ticks.) Your doggies will thank you. (Oven’s Mouth at dawn or dusk is spectacular even if you don’t have a best friend.)

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Dodge Point’s old roads and trails lead to a salt water river. Go early w doggies. Early.

What Else? Take tours at an Oyster Farm. http://www.gliddenpoint.com/ Take a boat to a lighthouse tour where volunteers in lighthouse keeper and family costumes greet you. https://www.maine.gov/dmr/education/burnt-island/tours.html Take a guided kayak tour on protected, waters. Seals, ocean birds, lobster boats pulling traps. Lovely. (Avoid the congested harbor.)  http://www.kayakboothbay.com/

[image error] [image error]  That’s it! I’m off to walk Raven somewhere truly secret. Then back to work on a few more chapters. If Maine did not exist, we would have to invent it. Aren’t we lucky! (And yes, we will have to work hard to conserve “real” bits to savor and share.)

Note: To find more treasures: http://www.mltn.org/index.php and  https://www1.maine.gov/dacf/parks/about/index.shtml Aislinn’s amazing BDN column:  http://actoutwithaislinn.bangordailynews.com/ And her new book, “Maine Hikes off the Beaten Path”

Sandy’s novel “Deadly Trespass, A Mystery in Maine” was a 2018 finalist for the Maine Literary Awards. It’s won a Mystery Writers of America national award and was also named a finalist in the Women’s Fiction Writers Association “Rising Star” contest. It’s at all Shermans Books and on Amazon. Find more info on the video trailer and Sandy’s website . “Deadly Turn” will be published in 2019.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How Maine Crime Writers Celebrate the 4th

 

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Kate Flora: Most of us are taking a day off from writing today, so we’re sharing pictures of 4th of July celebrations. On Bailey Island, one very special aspect of the 4th of July is the Ice Cream Social at Library Hall. Everyone from great grandmothers to newborns gather to enjoy this tradition. There is a kazoo band and other entertainment. And there is ice cream!

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Lea Wait: Can’t find any pictures just now, but two short memories:  When I was a child we always had a family reunion at the home I now live in. Relatives came from Boston and sometimes beyond, and we ate lobster and blueberry cake and all sorts of other goodies. Took days to prepare for, but always an event. Then, much later in my life, my second (and oldest) daughter, Caroline, arrived from Korea on July 3. For years after that, in New Jersey, we celebrated the Fourth of July, and her homecoming,  by watching the tape of 1776 and then going out for Chinese food with another single adoptive family, family going to a local veterans’ hospital where there was a band concert, fireworks — and disabled veterans. (I might add — for her first few years in American Caroline was convinced the fireworks were in her honor!) Happy 4th, everyone!

Susan Vaughan: Part of my Independence Day is always spent in Thomaston, at their wonderful, small-town celebration. The parade features [image error]local bands, high school and community, as well as politicians with signs (I expect a lot of those this election year), Revolutionary War reenactors complete with muskets that they fire  into the air, and at least a dozen fire trucks. I always cross my fingers no fires get started in any of the surrounding towns. There’s a Mr. and Ms. Fourth of July, local high school seniors, and a Grand Marshal. Afterward, there’s a chicken barbecue and other vendors. Fireworks cap the holiday. Happy Independence Day to all!

Maureen Milliken: One constant of every Fourth of July for more than four decades has been to listen to Bruce Springsteen’s “Fourth of July, Asbury Park.”

Another constant for many, many years, was that I worked, since I was a journalist and newspapers have few holidays. In fact, there’s usually more news on a holiday.

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My late dog Emma, posing for her traditional, and final, early morning Fourth of July photo in 2016.

A more recent tradition is that I finally try to get my window boxes filled so that the people who wander by my house during my town’s Fourth of July extravaganza don’t think I’m not holding up my end. Geez, is it summer already?

For the first several years of that, I always took a photo of my dogs, or one of them at least, in front of the house in the early morning before the town gets nuts.

I moved into the house I lived in now on July 1, 2011, which coincided with being management for the first time in my life — holidays off!

I’m lucky to live in a town that knows how to do the Fourth of July, a Main Street-long extravaganza that begins with a fairly loud boat parade on the stream that cuts through town and connects Great and Long ponds at 10 a.m., a parade at 4 and, of course, fireworks at dusk. In the meantime, there are vendor booths, food, music, frog-jumping contests and more.

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The town’s population multiplies for its day-long Fourth celebration.

I spend my Fourth of Julys at home and it’s great. Sometimes I wander the block over to Main Street, but a lot of it is on my screened porch, reading a book and listening from afar. Not that I haven’t done other things, too.

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Emma and Dewey supervise the livingroom painting, Fourth of July 2011.

My first year here, I painted the living room. It was a hot, humid day and I could hear shouts and music from Main Street. But it was also nice to be in my little house, with my dogs, painting.

There were a couple years some fellow Maine Crime Writers came to town and we had an excellent time selling books and talking Maine and mysteries to the throngs.

One unplanned thing is that all three of my Bernie O’Dea mystery novels have some Fourth of July element — there must be some resonance with the holiday that makes it a good touchstone in a mystery.

In real life, in my real Maine town, I’ve gone to the parade a couple times, but parts of it also wander by my house once it’s done, so I’ve found I can have my own little parade without having to jockey for a good viewing spot.

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Maine Crime Writers have joined the show at the Belgrade Fourth a couple times.

I also rarely go to the fireworks. I can see some of it above the trees from my front steps, and people in the neighborhood have their own enthusiastic displays, so there’s plenty.

Fireworks are okay, but they bothered my dogs so much that I couldn’t wait until they’d fizzle out for the night.

Last year, I was living away and spent the day in a coworking office writing and doing some freelance works.

It occurred to me the other day that this is the first year in many I won’t have to worry about a dog while the fireworks blast.  Dewey and Emma are both gone, so the photo of the dog in front of the house has also gone by the wayside. I don’t think I’ll take one of the house. The photo would seem empty without a dog in it.

That’s one tradition I’d like to revive.

Have a safe and happy Fourth!

Where’s Waldo?

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Bruce Robert Coffin here, wishing you all a happy July.

One of the most interesting things about being a novelist are the invites we receive from various libraries. Just last week I was in Southport, Maine for the first time in my life. Such a beautiful place. I enjoyed lunch dockside at Oliver’s and a fried shrimp dinner at Robinson’s Wharf. The folks attending the event at the Southport Memorial Library were both welcoming and enthusiastic. I was also treated to great weather and a chance to unwind at the Cozy Harbor Bed and Breakfast, where I spent some time working on the next Detective Byron novel. Thank you Sandra!

 

Last night I spoke in Castine, Maine as a guest of Witherle Memorial Library. The event, which took place at the Unitarian Universalist Parish House just across the town green from the library, kicked-off their 2018 Maine Writers Series. While in Castine, I stayed at the Pentagoet Inn Bed and Breakfast. And like the rest of the town, I found the Pentagoet both welcoming and charming. If you haven’t had a chance to explore the coast of Maine, I highly recommend it.

Where am I headed next? I’m glad you asked. Here is a list of my upcoming July appearances.

July 10-14 I’ll be attending ThrillerFest at the Grand Hyatt in New York City.

July 17th I’ll be at the Tewksbury Public Library in Tewksbury, Massachusetts.

July 19th I’ll be at Quill Books and Beverage emceeing a trivia fundraising event.

July 24th I’ll be at the Casco Public Library in Casco, Maine.

July 26th I’ll be at the Flint Public Library in Middleton, Massachusetts.

Hope to see you at one of these venues.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to pack for New York. Write on!

 

The Simple Life: Things I Neither Need Nor Want

Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson here, today thinking about the large number of things I happily do without. It was a request to do a podcast via Skype that started me thinking about this. Turned out I could do the interview just as easily the old-fashioned way—over the landline. Len Edgerly, the interviewer, offered to talk me through setting up Skype on my computer, pointing out that the system itself is free. I politely declined. I don’t have family in far flung places. I am asked to do perhaps one of these podcast interviews a year. And, of course, if I were paranoid (who, me?) I’d be concerned about having a camera on my computer that could be watching me. If you’re interested, you can hear the podcast at http://thekindlechronicles.com/tkc-517-a-prolific-author-from-maine-kathy-lynn-emerson

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What else do I NOT have? Let’s start with technology that’s been around for generations. I have never had and see no need for either a dishwasher or a clothes dryer. There are just the two of us here. I actually enjoy washing dishes once a day. Plus, it’s a free “heat treatment” for my arthritic fingers. As for the clothes dryer, they use a lot of electricity, present a fire danger if they aren’t cleaned regularly, and no matter what the dryer sheet people tell you, never leave clothes smelling as fresh as they will if you hang them up to dry in the open air. When I can’t use our clothes line, I hang clothes on a drying rack and a line strung across the spare room—the kind you can rewind when you’re not using it.

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Alexa and her cousins? Nah. I’m perfectly capable of turning on the television, locking the door, looking up information on my pc, and so on without help. Then there’s that case where a private conversation was recorded and sent to a large number of people because the “I’m smarter than people” device thought it had been told to do that. Uh-huh. I can do stupid things all on my own, thank you.

I don’t even own a smart phone. It wouldn’t do me any good at home. We live in a “dead zone” so the landline is a necessity. The cellphone I carry in my purse is for emergencies. I’ve used it once to call AAA when I had a flat tire. I used to use it when I traveled, to call home from hotels. Since I got my iPad, I just use the hotel’s WiFi and send emails instead.

Now, see, I’m not a complete Neanderthal. I have a personal computer and an iPad. On the other hand, my cellphone is a flip phone with an antenna and I still use an old version of Word because I don’t much like the newer ones. Why fiddle with docx files when I can continue to deliver manuscripts to my editor and send guest posts to various blogs and so on in doc files?

Do you see a theme here? I was brought up with the philosophy “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Faster is just faster. It isn’t necessarily better.

We have cable television, something that at one time we didn’t think would ever reach this part of rural Maine. It provides us with New England sports and a good selection of free movies on demand. I tend to buy movies I want to see on DVD and watch at my leisure. I see no need for premium channels or streaming services. Of course, it could just be that I’m cheap.

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As you can see, I’ve compiled quite a list of things I can do without, but I’m going to add one more: GPS. I suppose if I lived in a big city and frequently had to find unfamiliar locations, it might come in handy, but in rural Maine? Here, GPS mostly just gets people lost. Plug in our street address without adding WEST to U. S. Rt. 2 and GPS will take you about ten miles in the wrong direction and insist that’s where we live. It also directs cars up dead-end dirt roads with some frequency. I’ve been on trips a couple of times with friends who have GPS. In one case, we were heading for White Plains, New York. The GPS was determined to take us through downtown Hartford, New Haven, and Bridgeport (at rush hour) when I knew darned well that taking Rt. 84 would save both time and hassle.  Give me a DeLorme road atlas or an old fashioned fold-up road map over that nonsense any day!

What about you, dear readers? What modern “conveniences” are you happy to do without? Are there some you’ve decided are more trouble than they’re worth?

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Kathy Lynn Emerson/Kaitlyn Dunnett is the author of more than fifty-five 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 and the “Deadly Edits” series (Crime & 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. Her most recent collection of short stories is Different Times, Different Crimes. Her websites are www.KaitlynDunnett.com and www.KathyLynnEmerson.com and she maintains a website about women who lived in England between 1485 and 1603 at A Who’s Who of Tudor Women.

 

Weekend Update: June 30-July 1, 2018

[image error]Next week at Maine Crime Writers, there will posts by Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson (Monday) Bruce Coffin (Tuesday), special 4th of July post (Wednesday), Sandra Neilly (Thursday), and Kate Flora (Friday).

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

Bruce Robert Coffin will be speaking at the Witherle Memorial Library in Castine on Monday, July 2nd at 7:00 pm.

an interview with Kathy Lynn Emerson (aka Kaitlyn Dunnett) is featured in a new podcast at The Kindle Chronicles. You can find it here: http://thekindlechronicles.com/tkc-517-a-prolific-author-from-maine-kathy-lynn-emerson

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

Another Twist in the Road

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Photo by Sebastian Voortman on Pexels.com

Lea Wait, here. Some of you may remember that about three years ago I posted about my husband, Bob Thomas, his health issues., and how they were changing our lives. I followed that up, always with Bob’s approval, with further posts a year later, and then, earlier this spring, when he entered hospice. As most of you know, Bob died peacefully at home in our bed on April 9.

Since then, my life has been busy and, in many ways, has felt surreal. I miss Bob, and think of him every hour of every day. I’m trying to get our house and my writing commitments in order. I’ve hosted two of my granddaughters, and eighteen-year-old Vanessa is with me for the summer, working at the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens before she begins college in August.

I haven’t really had – or taken – the time to grieve. I have family commitments and manuscript deadlines, and I just launched a new mystery series.

But now, in the ironies of life, another change has come.

As a short bit of background — before Bob and I were married I’d taken care of my mother for many years, and Bob had cared for his mother, who died of pancreatic cancer. He also cared for his wife of only a few months, who died of pancreatic cancer only nine months after his mother. When Bob and I decided to marry we knew one of us would some day be taking care of the other. Although Bob’s health wasn’t the best, even those 15 years ago, he believed that someday he would be caring for me … that I, too, would get pancreatic cancer. Every time I had any physical issue he would ask the doctor to check that I didn’t have it. Finally, it became a kind of joke with us. My health was good — no history of serious diseases, heart, stroke, or cancer. No family history.

So ten days ago when I got very dizzy, and the dizziness didn’t go away within a few hours, and I ended up at an emergency room, I asked the doctors to check not only my head, but also my abdomen. I’d been having a few minor pains. Indigestion? Maybe my gall bladder?

Twenty-four hours later, after an increasingly detailed series of tests, I learned that, yes, almost unbelievably, I have pancreatic cancer. It’s stage four — it’s spread to my liver.

I’ve seen an oncologist. Today I’m having a biopsy and a mediport will be implanted so I can more easily get chemotherapy. The cancer is terminal, but chemo might give me more good months to live.

I’m continuing to work on my books and make appearances, and plan to continue doing those things as long as I can. I haven’t given up. But, once again, I’m dealing with illness that I can medicate to some degree, but over which I have no control. This time the illness is mine.

I ‘m not planning to post daily bulletins on Facebook, or make this blog the diary of a cancer patient, but so many of you came along with me and were touched by Bob’s journey that I felt I wanted to include you on mine as well.

For the moment I feel fine except for occasional twinges.  That will change. But one thing we all know: death is a part of life.

My only hopes are that I have time to make my next transition as easy as possible for my family and friends, and that I have as peaceful an ending as Bob did.

Somewhere, perhaps, he is laughing at the ironies of life, and wishing me strength and hope.

In the meantime, I am writing on.