Kathy Lynn Emerson's Blog, page 93

Cutting the Cord

by Barb, still home in Somerville, MA recovering from knee surgery, but now venturing out for special guest star appearances

Hi. Barb Ross here, announcing that when it comes to our Maine house we have cut our cable cord.

I know hundreds of thousands of people have done this. But most of the people I know who have done it are at least a generation younger than us, habitually watch TV shows on a device other than a television, and have never had a land line.

My husband and I, on the other hand, should be a cable company’s dream.

We’re happy to pay money for value. If we’re getting services that are easy to manage and that please us, we are happy to pay for them. This extends from the plumber who opens our house every season to cable TV. Give us good service and we’ll pay for it.
We love television. I’m not going to tell you I’m some kind of intellectual who hates TV. We love TV and in my opinion, television, particularly television from the non-basic channels and streaming services has never been better. If Dickens were alive today, he’d be writing for HBO, etc, etc.
We’re middle adopters, not cutting edge people. While my husband is a bit more of a gadget person than I am, meaning that we have a bunch of boxes hooked up to our TV and bunch of remotes, in my perfect world there is one remote and one place to go to find television I want to watch–to my cable guide.
We have to have internet when we’re in Maine. We’re there for the whole season, and we’re working when we’re there.

In other words, despite our older-skewing demographics, we are exactly the people cable companies should be really worried about losing. We are the types who would have hung on forever–if we’d had just a tiny bit of decent service at a reasonable price.

We have cut the cord for one reason and one reason only. Time Warner Cable in has surpassed our previous record holder, Aetna Insurance, as the worst company in America.

The year started off with an $800 cable bill. Without telling us, Time Warner had taken our account off seasonal suspend and loaded it with every premium channel available–at full price. My husband negotiated it down quite a bit, but not nearly close to what it should have been, which was zero.

Since this occurred I’ve talked to at least three other people, people with cottages all over Maine, to whom this happened. If Time Warner thinks $800.00 is an amount most Maine residents, even seasonal residents, will just pay not to have to deal with them, they are off by more than a couple of zeros.

Then there was the internet. Multiple visits by technicians over the summer. To get a technician to come, you have to pass through a gauntlet of service calls, whereby you have to credibly prove they can’t fix whatever it is from their office. Then you have to be home at the appointed time, which is almost never the time they actually show up.

The cable boxes died at some point and had to be replaced. The technician pronounced them “lemons.” The new ones installed had to be rebooted every 24 hours, which wiped out the guide and anything we had set to record. Time Warner support asked, “Is it plugged into a surge protector? The new boxes don’t work if they’re plugged into a surge protector.” This sounded like a total lie to me, the kind of thing people say when they have no idea what is wrong. My husband pointed out to them that if the new boxes didn’t work with surge protectors a) that meant they didn’t work at all and b) maybe it would be a good thing to manufacture them with cords that were more than two feet long.

So it went all summer. Crappy internet, balky cable boxes and bills way too high to justify. I said I didn’t mind paying money for value, but the equation was way off. By August, we’d decided to end what felt like an abusive relationship when we left in the fall.

My husband Bill called to cancel. They briefly talked him into hanging on to the phone, which would allow my mother-in-law who lives with us to keep the phone number she’s had for twenty-five years. After they put him on hold for half an hour to figure out how to do that, he told them to forget it. To mail the boxes intended for shipping back the DVRs to our billing address in Massachusetts and cancel the account.

They said, “no problem.” They also said they couldn’t cancel the account for ten days, but we wouldn’t be charged for the extra ones.

Of course, you’ve guessed what happened. The boxes were shipped to the Maine address and we were billed for those extra ten days. Belatedly, Time Warner service claimed they “can’t” ship boxes to any address except the service address. Which proves they don’t understand the meaning of the word “can’t.”

My husband believes this is all straightened out and we are shut of them, but I won’t believe it until we get the final, final, final bill. Good riddance, Time Warner.

We’ll have to find internet somehow next summer. Fortunately, Boothbay Harbor offers a couple of alternatives.

What about you readers? Anybody cut the cord? How has it gone? Are we crazy?

That Glamorous Writer’s Life …

Lea Wait, here.  Just returned from a book-related weekend.

Unlike many Maine Crime Writers … I wasn’t at Bouchercon.  Instead, I was at the Bar Harbor Kids Book Festival. Attendance was a little lower than that at Bouchercon, the  mystery conference that usually draws upwards of 3,000 people – since I wasn’t there, I don’t know exactly how many people showed up this year. But in Bar Harbor I was hanging around with forty other authors, comparing gripes and celebrations, and spending time with other book lovers: teachers, librarians, parents — and readers of books from picture books to young adult.

The Bar Harbor area is gorgeous this time of year,and I drove through parts of Acadia National Park twice — once on my way to and from Southwest Harbor, where I spoke to 5th and 6th graders on Friday — and once when I was distracted by the scenery, and made a wrong turn on my way home yesterday. Not a bad reason for a wrong turn.

During the weekend several people asked me whether I’d travel to visit their school or library (“Yes, if my expenses are covered,”) and then asked the usual question: do you write every day?

Now, I once attended a writers conference where my roommate got up at 4 every morning and wrote 1,000 words before the conference breakfast. I have no idea whether her words were brilliant or gobbledy gook. Probably they were a mixture of both, because that’s true of most writers. But  I was impressed at her resolve and determination.

Because, no, when I’m doing appearances, I don’t get much, if any, writing done. (I’ll admit that because of various schedule  vagaries, I did manage to do line edits on 200 pages while I was away this past weekend. But that’s unusual.)

To begin with, an appearance begins at least a day before I leave. There’s planning any presentations I’ll be giving. There’s packing — you probably won’t be surprised to know I don’t wear the same clothes for appearances as I do when I’m comfy and sitting in front of my home computer.  Plus, of course, there are the small-sized toiletries to gather and pack, the coordination of the color of my chosen clothing with shoes and jewelry … and so forth.

In addition, I pack promotional items. Postcards. Book marks. Posters for the libraries or schools I speak at. “Show and tell” items to take to classrooms. This trip I talked about Noah Webster, and what it was like going to school in the 19th century. I took with me a dozen 19th century text books, period prints, a $3 bill printed in Wiscasset, merit cards “for good students” and so forth. I often take an edited (by my editor) copy of a manuscript, maps and sketches of my book’s location, and even 19th century kitchen ware to share with students.

(Nothing like handling a 19th century wrought iron skillet or iron to appreciate what women  – or soldiers – dealt with in the past.)

Packed, I head out, directions and GPS available if necessary. I don’t have a cellphone, so once I leave my doorstep, I’m on my own. I’ve been known to get a bit lost. I’ve stayed in resorts, in less expensive motels, in very inexpensive motels, and in people’s homes.  This past weekend I was in a house usually rented, but currently unoccupied, so volunteered as a place for an author. The bed was comfortable, but the absence of soap or toilet paper was noted, and made for another short side trip.

So a typical weekend begins. The author’s reception and (sometimes) dinner. This trip I spoke at a school on Friday, and lunched with the principal, the librarian, and several of the teachers. Very nice … down to the china tea cups we sipped from sitting around a cloth-covered library table. I visited a local bookstore. Then there were workshops, and panels, and signings …. and so forth. Lots of smiling and handing out promotional materials and hoping some of them would lead to other appearances — and, of course, to book sales.

After it was all over, I headed for home. I don’t know if you were figuring all that out, but I left home about noon on Thursday, and got home for a late dinner Saturday night.

Then — back to writing? Well, sort of. I also brought home two unexpected souvenirs of Bar Harbor: a migraine and a head cold. Of course, everything else I brought home had to be put away, the 300 emails that arrived while I was gone had to be read and (when necessary) answered. Snail mail, too. I’m lucky to have a husband who’d taken care of food for us, but laundry .. that’s my job.

I wrote thank you notes to the people I’d met this past weekend, and now I’m writing this blog.

By the time I get back to writing, I will have “lost” four days.

What I did is part of being a writer. But it’s not writing.

So – to everyone who asks, “do you write every day?”

The answer  is — yes. If other writing chores don’t interfere.

Luckily for my next deadline I now have almost 3 weeks free before I head out again. And, yes — I’ll be writing every day until then.

 

The Short Straw

Chris Holm and Katrina Niidas Holm at Bouchercon before the drinking began

Oh, I see how it is. “Chris Holm is the new kid on the block,” my fellow bloggers must’ve said. “Let’s give him the short straw, and stick him with the Monday after Bouchercon.”

Bouchercon, for those who don’t know, is the World Mystery Convention. Think of it as Comic-Con for mystery geeks. It’s named after writer/editor/critic/noted champion of the genre Anthony Boucher, and often shortened to B’con, both for convenience and because no one can agree on how to pronounce “Boucher.” (Hint: it rhymes with “voucher.” I know because Wikipedia says so, and Wikipedia never lies.)

Bouchercon moves around from year to year. My first, in 2011, was in St. Louis. Last year’s was in Long Beach. This year’s is—er, I mean was—in Raleigh.

(Okay, you got me. I’m writing this ahead of time. I know myself too well to put it off. After four days of drinking into the wee hours with several hotels’ worth of fellow crime writers, there’s no way I’m going to have the brainpower left come Sunday night to write a recap post. But that’s okay. I write fiction for a living. I’ll just make something up.)

It was lovely to see MCW’s own Kathy Lynn Emerson this weekend, although I confess I was surprised when she ordered a round of flaming shots for the entire bar. My karaoke outing with Dorothy Cannell was as entertaining as it was eye-opening; who knew she had such a comprehensive knowledge of mid-90s West Coast hip hop? Kate Flora’s much-hyped arm-wrestling match with her Beat, Slay, Love co-author Gary Phillips was the hottest ticket in town… but I don’t want to spoil the result for those of you who haven’t seen the video yet. (Suffice to say there was crying. And cursing. And some minor structural damage. According to YouTube, it’s gotten over 100,000 hits so far.) And then there’s Brenda Buchanan. This was her first Bouchercon, and she certainly made the most of it… but now that the Camaro’s been fished out of the fountain, and the authorities paid off, all’s well. The less we speak of it, the better.

In all seriousness, Bouchercon is a wonderful event, and I highly recommend attending. Lord knows once my hangover abates, I’ll be eagerly awaiting the next one. By then, maybe there’ll be a newer new kid we can stick with the Monday morning post.

Weekend Update: October 10-11, 2015

Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be posts by Chris Holm (Monday), Lea Wait (Tuesday), Barb Ross (Wednesday), Susan Vaughan (Thursday) and John Clark (Friday).

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

Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson is at Bouchercon this weekend, but when she returns she’ll be drawing names to give away ARCs of The Scottie Barked at Midnight. See her post from October 8 for more details.

Kate Flora: A bunch of us are in Raleigh, North Carolina this weekend for Bouchercon 2015, which is a huge national mystery convention. I keep trying to get pictures of Chris Holm (he moves too fast), Dorothy Cannell (she is always surrounded by a crowd) and Kathy. We shall see if I succeed. Until then, here are some other pictures. Maybe I can also get a good picture of Dreyfus the Cadaver Dog. I know you’d like to see that.

 

Brenda Buchanan reading from Cover Story at the People’s Reading

Kate’s Anthony-nominated book in the book room

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chris Holm and Katrina Niidas Holm at Bouchercon

Chris signing The Killing Kind

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dreyfus in a down position, indicating he’s found the body

Dreyfus the cadaver dog catching the scent

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

 

It’s Hard to Find a Bad Setting in Maine . . .

By Brenda Buchanan

Maine is chock-full of great ideas for setting a crime novel.

By setting I mean something more fundamental than the particular city or town—real or imaginary—where the story unfolds. I’m talking about the places that give communities their distinctive character. Whether I’m reading someone else’s book or writing one of my own, I love to immerse myself in the physical and emotional space inhabited by the book’s characters.

A defunct factory, its windows a gap-toothed smile thanks to kids with strong arms and good aim.

An old-fashioned courtroom smelling of floor wax.

A church sanctuary illuminated by late-afternoon light.

As readers of this blog know, my first book, Quick Pivot, is set in the imaginary mill town of Riverside, Maine. In the opening scene, a body is found in the long-neglected Saccarappa Textile Mill. Having spent a lot of time exploring the region’s former economic mainstays, I loved writing about that imaginary mill. If the Saccarappa were real I know its renovators would likely discover—as have the visionaries who are busy restoring mills across New England—that the skilled craftsmen who built it embellished its brick façade with architectural flourishes, a testament to the pride the community took in its mill. 

But in Quick Pivot, Joe is skeptical the decrepit Saccarappa was ever a handsome place:

The day was what meteorologists call mostly sunny but it didn’t feel that way in the shadow of the Saccarappa. Sagging with age and neglect, the accumulated soot on its brick face leached the light out of the sky. Mismatched additions hunched on the north and south flanks of the original four-story structure, meeting the front door at asymmetrical angles. The idea must have been to create a courtyard. The effect was a claustrophobe’s bad dream. I felt hemmed in even though I was outdoors.

My second book in the Joe Gale mystery series, the recently-released Cover Story, takes place in the dead of winter, way downeast in Machias. There’s an imaginary brew pub and a townie tavern, a drinking divide that is typical in smaller Maine towns, at least those populous enough to support two bars. Folks who like fancy beer and live music go to the pub. Locals who prefer Bud and familiar faces go to someplace like The Mudflat, my imagined Machias watering hole:

I’d found the place where the people unimpressed by microbrews drank. It was an L-shaped space, narrow in the front, broadening beyond the bar. The bar itself—which ran along the right side of the room—was a slab of maple someone had milled but didn’t have the patience to finish. There were about a dozen tables opposite the bar, and in the back, a few booths. The place reeked of stale beer and nicotine. It had been a decade since smokers could light up in Maine bars, but it smelled like hundreds of thousands of butts had been smoked in The Mudflat over the years and no one had thought to wash the walls when the practice was outlawed.

Cover Story is about a murder trial, and a lot of the action takes place inside the Washington County Courthouse, which is a real place.

There’s a spanking new addition, but the old part of the building has been listed on the National Register of Historic Places since 1976. Many years ago, when my law practice still included litigation, I tried a civil case in the high-ceilinged chamber in that gracious structure. In Cover Story I took some liberties with its layout, but it would be recognizable if you were to tour the circa-1855 part of the building.

I scanned the second-floor courtroom. The front half of the spectator section on the left side had been roped off to accommodate the jury pool, so I claimed the aisle seat in the front row on the right side. This would allow me a good vantage point to watch voir dire, the process by which prospective jurors are questioned about their backgrounds and potential biases.

Large windows welcomed sunlight on both sides of the room, causing the benches to gleam like they were in a furniture polish commercial. The fourteen-chair box where the jurors would sit was beneath the windows, about thirty diagonal feet to my right. The witness stand was straight ahead, perhaps forty feet away.

My third book, Truth Beat, will be out in late winter of 2016. Like Quick Pivot, it takes place in Riverside. The plot revolves around the suspicious death of a Catholic priest. A critical aspect of the setting came together after I attended a friend’s mother’s funeral. Though I’m no longer a practicing Catholic, being surrounded by Catholic iconography and the ritual of a funeral Mass triggered a flood of memories from my youth and made it easy for me to describe the primary sanctuary of Riverside’s imaginary St. Jerome’s Church.

Here’s a sneak preview from Truth Beat:

The hardworking millworkers who’d financed the construction of St. Jerome’s a century and a half earlier hadn’t stinted on making it a beautiful place of worship. The church had two levels. Upstairs was a formal space, with fancy chairs on a broad altar and three aisles of pews that could hold perhaps five hundred people. The soaring ceiling was painted ivory with pale blue accents, and grapevines and flowers were carved into the graceful pillars that reached to its apex. The floor was carpeted in a deep burgundy, and the stained glass windows softened the light that managed to penetrate.

Setting isn’t the initial thing I think about when I start imagining a new book. Character sketches come first. But once I’ve created the people who will populate my story, I need to conjure the places where they’ll work and play before I can start writing.

Lucky for me, I live in Maine, where inspiration for vivid settings is pretty much everywhere I look.

How much does setting matter to you when you read a book set in a place with which you are familiar? How about when the story takes place somewhere you’ve never been?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One for the Dogs

Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson here, for the first of a series of blogs plugging the next Liss MacCrimmon mystery, The Scottie Barked at Midnight, and offering, at the end of this post, a chance to win an advance reading copy of that book.

I have to confess, I’m not really a dog person. It’s not that I don’t like dogs. It’s just that I get on better with cats. That said, there have been two memorable dogs in my life.

Skippy, a fox terrier, came into the family about a year before I did. It was touch and go at first whether he’d accept me, but I apparently won him over. Thanks to my mother’s nursing, he survived two strokes and lived to the ripe old age of eighteen. He and Spot, the cat who joined the family when I was ten and Skippy was eleven must have reached some kind of agreement about living arrangements. I don’t ever remember seeing them fight.

Fast forward to age thirty or so. My husband and I had bought a house. For the first time, we had room enough for a dog. We already had two cats, soon to be three, later to be four. Looking back, we probably gave the poor dog an inferiority complex by naming him Not-a-cat, but we pronounced it Na-TAK-it, so perhaps he never realized. He was a mutt, maybe with a little retriever, maybe a hint of huskie. Who knows? He was a good dog, and he lived with us from puppyhood to the pretty good age of fifteen. He loved being outside, no matter how cold it got. He had a doghouse and blankets, but he preferred to pretend he was a sled-dog and sleep on top of the snow, letting more snow fall on top of him until he was completely covered. According to our vet, it was healthier for him to stay outside all the time than to go in and out in cold weather. Certainly, he thrived on Maine’s winters.

As for the cats, Not-a-cat really really wanted them to like him. They never did. In fact, the old lady of the group, Jeremiah (yes, I know it’s a male name—we’ve never gone along gender lines when naming pets) got a real kick out of chasing him whenever they met. No matter that he was three or four times her size! As for Smokey, the cat we inherited from my parents when they moved to Florida, just let’s say that the relationship remained cool.

What does this have to do with The Scottie Barked at Midnight, the Liss MacCrimmon mystery in stores on the 27th of this month? Two things. One was that I had some understanding of dog/cat dynamics. The other was that I knew I needed to consult an expert on Scottish terriers, since I was going to use two of them, Dandy and Dondi, in the story. Fortunately, the reader who emailed me in 2012 to suggest that Scotties might make a good addition to the Liss MacCrimmon series was willing to help out. What made her an expert, you ask? That’s easy—she shares her home with no fewer than four Scotties, shown below, and is active in the Rocky Mountain Scottish Terrier Club’s Scottie Rescue program, an organization that helps find loving homes for Scotties.

And now, as promised, an opportunity to win an ARC of The Scottie Barked at Midnight. I have three of them left to give away. To enter, just make a comment on this post any time between now and October 12. I’ll draw three names and contact the winners for their snail mail addresses. That means they will have the chance to read this book nearly two weeks before launch date. Good luck!

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 as Kathy (Murder in the Merchant’s Hall). The latter series is a spin-off from her earlier “Face Down” series and is set in Elizabethan England. Her websites are www.KaitlynDunnett.com and www.KathyLynnEmerson.com

 

Meet Debut Author Julianne Holmes

Today we host a newly minted author, Julie Hennrikus, writing as Julianne Holmes

KF: Julie Hennrikus, we’re delighted to have you visit us at Maine Crime Writers today.

Debut author Julianne Holmes

You’re launching your first book today. It has a great title: Just Killing Time. Tell us about the book.

JH: Just Killing Time is the first book in the Clock Shop Mystery series. Ruth Clagan is a clockmaker, the latest in a long line of clock makers. She inherits her grandfather’s shop in Orchard, Massachusetts, and moves back to decide what to do with it, and to help find his killer.

KF: Something our readers love to hear about is a writer’s journey to publication. So tell us a little bit about yours.

JH: I’ve often said that writing is a solitary effort, but getting published takes a community. The best thing I did was to join Sisters in Crime, and to take classes and workshops. I also started going to Crime Bake every year, meeting people, pitching novels, and trying to figure it all out. Three years ago several of my friends got contracts for cozy series. I met their agent at Crime Bake, and we talked. He couldn’t sell the proposal I sent him, but when other opportunities came up, the fact that we’d met already helped a lot.

I should also mention that my first publication was a short story in Level Best Books. In fact, I’ve had three stories published in Level Best Books anthologies. Those stories definitely boosted my confidence.

KF: Writers often talk about the loneliness of the writer’s life and the challenges of handling rejection. Did you have a writers group or other supports during the process?

JH: As I said, Sisters in Crime, specifically the New England chapter, has been a great resource for me over the years. Remember that group of friends who all got contracts around the same time? Five of them decided to start a group blog, and invited me to be part of it. We call it the Wicked Cozy Authors. The group is Jessie Crockett, Barbara Ross, Liz Mugavero, Edith Maxwell, and Sherry Harris. This group of women are more than just my blogmates. They are my friends, my cheerleaders, and my support system.

KF: A lot of your work has been in the theater world and so I’m curious, how did your work in theater translate into Ruth’s life and a clock shop?

JH: Theater is excellent training for being a mystery writer. The dramatic structure in mysteries is the same as it is for plays. Characters wear clothes/costumes, sets are the shop, the town. Everything works to serve the story.

In this series, the Cog & Sprocket is the name of Ruth’s shop. What are the tools (props) she uses? How does the shop look, smell, feel? What’s the lighting look like? What is Ruth wearing? What does that tell the reader?

Theater has taught me that every decision matters, so I think a lot about them, and try to sketch the world I want the reader to fill in with detail.

KF: Tell us a little more about you. How did a nice woman like you end up wanting to be a crime writer? Is being a publisher writer a lifelong dream?

JH: As you well know, some of the nicest people in the business write crime fiction. It’s probably been about twenty years since I said, aloud, that I wanted to be a writer and committed myself to doing the work to make that happen. I started taking workshops, and I was writing good but boring stories. After a while, I realized that the genre I loved to read was crime fiction, so I decided to explore that. Being published is a long time dream. I’m beyond thrilled.

KF: Your book is set in the fictional town of Orchard, Massachusetts. Is Orchard based on a real town? What are the challenges of blending the real with the fictional?

JH: Orchard is not a real town. It is in the Berkshires, but the real town that inspired Orchard is actually in Western, Mass. I was driving home from a show at Double Edge one summer night, right after I’d signed the contract for this series. My GPS took me home a different way, and one minute I was going right at a fork in the road, then I rolled into a Williamsburg. It was Orchard, or at least a good basis for Orchard. A town center, different style buildings in varying stages of restoration. Very New England. So I moved it a little farther west, and started building Orchard.

KF: I know that you are using a pseudonym for the book. Why is that?

JH: Given the contract for this series, writing under a different name made the most sense. Holmes is a family name (my father’s mother was a Holmes), and Julianne Holmes Hennrikus was going to be my name until my grandmother convinced my mother it was too long. So I became Julie Anne. When I needed to find a new name to write under, I didn’t have to look far.

KF: Can we look forward to more clock shop mysteries? And if so, do you have a title for the next one?

JH: I have a contract for two more books. Book #2 is written, and being edited. The working title is Clock & Dagger. Book #3 is being plotted—I’m a serious plotter—and is due next spring. I’m doing research on clock towers. Talk about plotting opportunities! Have you ever seen the counter weight in a clock tower? The mind whirs…

Blurb about JUST KILLING TIME: Ruth Clagan may be an expert clockmaker, but she’s always had a tendency to lose track of time. And when trying to solve a murder, every minute counts…

Ruth’s beloved grandfather instilled in her a love of timepieces. Unfortunately after her grandmother died and he remarried, Ruth and Grandpa Thom became estranged. She’s wanted to reconnect after her recent divorce, but sadly they’ve run out of time. Her grandfather has been found dead after a break-in at his shop—and the police believe he was murdered.

Now Ruth has been named the heir to Grandpa Thom’s clock shop, the Cog & Sprocket, in the small Berkshire town of Orchard, Massachusetts. As soon as she moves into the small apartment above the shop and begins tackling the heaps of unfinished work, Ruth finds herself trying to stay on the good side of Grandpa’s bossy gray cat, Bezel, while avoiding the step-grandmother she never wanted. But as old secrets and grudges start to surface, Ruth will have to kick into high gear to solve the killer case before someone else winds up dead…

BIO

Julianne Holmes is the author of Just Killing Time, the debut novel in the Clock Shop Mystery series and is the pseudonym for J. A. (Julie) Hennrikus, whose short stories have appeared in the award-winning Level Best Books. She serves on the boards of Sisters in Crime and Sisters in Crime New England, and is a member of Mystery Writers of America. She blogs with the Wicked Cozy Authors WickedCozyAuthors.com. She lives in Somerville, Massachusetts. She tweets as @JulieHennrikus. Visit JulianneHolmes.com

 

 

 

A Sneak Peek and some really good books for your TBR Pile (With a Rant in Between)

Holly’s cover revealed

John Clark sharing the cover and an author picture of Holly Schindler (http://hollyschindler.com/) as part of her reveal for the forthcoming YA book Spark due next May. She also has a new contemporary and funny ebook out called Fifth Avenue Fidos. Here’s a teaser for that one:

“Mable Barker, a hilarious, good-natured sweetheart who is always the pal but never the girlfriend, endures nine horrendous months of bouncing between lackluster jobs in Manhattan (and suffering unrequited love) in her unsuccessful attempt to find her one true talent. So when she meets Innis, the ill-tempered Fifth Avenue Pekingese, she assumes her dog-walking days are numbered, too; soon, she’ll be heading back to Queens brokenhearted, tail tucked between her legs. But Innis belongs to the adorable yet painfully shy young veterinarian, Jason Mead, a man whose awkward ways around women have him dreaming not of finding love for himself but of playing canine matchmaker—breeding Westminster champions.”

I have this shirt on my Christmas list.

You may remember Holly as the current cat herder for the blog I profiled last month YA Outside The Lines. Here’s a bit she sent me about Spark.

“When the right hearts come to the Avery Theater—at the right time—the magic will return. The Avery will come back from the dead.

Or so Quin’s great-grandmother predicted many years ago on Verona, Missouri’s most tragic night, when Nick and Emma, two star-crossed teenage lovers, died on the stage. It was the night that the Avery’s marquee lights went out forever.

It sounds like urban legend, but one that high school senior Quin is now starting to believe, especially when her best friend, Cass, and their classmate Dylan step onto the stage and sparks fly. It seems that magic can still unfold at the old Avery Theater and a happier ending can still be had—one that will align the stars and revive not only the decrepit theater, but also the decaying town. However, it hinges on one thing—that Quin gets the story right this time around.

Holly Schindler brings the magic of the theater to life in this tale of family ties, fate, love, and one girl’s quest to rewrite history.”

~

“In my hometown, the restoration of a former movie theater on the town square provided the genesis for my new YA novel, SPARK. Who among us hasn’t dreamed of seeing their name in blazing neon across a gigantic marquee? Let me invite you to dim the lights and draw back the velvet curtains—let your imagination run wild as you enter my fictional Avery Theater, where literally anything goes…”

—Holly Schindler

Can’t wait for this one.

Holly also has another book coming soon that I plan to read as soon as I can get my hands on it because it’s a sequel I never expected to see for a wonderful story she wrote back in 2011 called Playing Hurt. When I finished that one, I felt it was a crime not to find out what happened to athletes Chelsea and Clint. Apparently I wasn’t the only one as Play It Again is in the pipeline.

The picture below is approximately half of my current TBR pile and I just added another reviewing gig to those I already have, so I’m certifiably insane, but come by it honestly. Anyone who ever visited Mom at Sennebec Hill Farm knows how she sat on her couch in front of the picture window, wedged in by multiple stacks of books. I tend to read a book a day, sometimes as many as three. The ones that land in my piles seem to fall into four categories. 1: Sucked in immediately and the world morphs into what’s on the page, 2: It takes a chapter for the story monster to reach out and pull me under, 3: Somewhere between page 30 and 100, I pick up another book and maybe come back for another try later. If not, I catalog it and pass it on to Nick at the library, 4: By the end of page two, I’ve realized that it might win every award in the world, but there’s no way I’ll ever read it.

If the adage, ‘he who dies with the most toys wins’ includes books not read, then I’m in the running.

Category four reminds me of an evil phenomenon fostered by that segment of the educational system which insisted you must read classic literature or demons would devour your soul. I rebelled in eighth grade, in high school, in college and still refuse to read most books that are waved at me with the admonition “You have to read this!” Heck, I’m such a reading junkie, I’ve been known to re-read the classified ads in the Bangor Daily News while waiting for rice to cook, but my inner rebellious kid never let go of the aversion to ‘great literature’.

If it really is important to get kids to read and like doing so, is content so all-fired important? I know I’m editorializing here, but we just awarded a $1000 scholarship through the library to a graduating senior who is going to school in Vermont to study graphic arts and his portfolio is pretty impressive. When I first met Doug, he read little, if anything. I introduced him to Manga at the library and he was hooked almost immediately. Over the next several years, he went through our collection, then discovered interlibrary loan and branched out until he was reading pretty complex fiction and nonfiction. His initial interest happened to coincide with his love of drawing and that spark turned an average student into one who started taking advanced placement courses, as well as classes at the community college while still in high school. He graduated in the top ten at Nokomis and I have every reason to believe he’ll be a success in college. Would he have had a similar experience if he’d been forced to read classics? Maybe, but I’m of the opinion that there’s a magic book out there for every reluctant reader and one of the things we, as authors and librarians, can do is help as many kids as possible to find their magic.

Below are some recent books I’ve read that fit category one (with apologies to my friends on Goodreads who may have already seen these).

All We Have is Now by Lisa Schroeder, Point (July 28, 2015) , ISBN: 9780545802536

24 hours left before your world ends. What do you so? For Emerson and Vince who have been living on the street, it means choosing their way out before a giant asteroid hits Idaho and does the job for them. Most everyone in western North America who could escape did so, leaving cities like Portland, Oregon where they live, a ghost town. They’re on their way to jump off a bridge when they meet Carl who asks if they have a wish. Vince tells him that he’d really like to have some cash because living hand to mouth on the streets really stinks. When Carl hands over his wallet and asks them to grant someone else a last wish, it sets in motion an amazing series of events as they try to honor his wish and a few of their own. The journey takes them to new places both physical and mental in their effort to honor Carl’s request.

I wondered how this might compare to Tumble and Fall by Alexandra Coutts. Truthfully, they’re quite different. This is as much about friendship and hope as anything and what happens to Emerson and Vince in that 24 hour time frame is sweet and beautiful. I really like the circularity of the plot and how the author lets the teens’ feelings slowly leak out as they realize how much they care for one another and how much impact their actions have on the people they encounter.

Teens who like a love story with a few prickles, an apocalyptic tale with a twist and a book that will make them wonder exactly how they might spend their last day, will really enjoy this one. Another no-brainer selection for school and public libraries.

Every Last Word by Tamara Ireland Stone, Disney-Hyperion (June 16, 2015) ISBN: 9781484705278

We all obsess, it’s part of the human condition, but for Samantha McAllister, it’s an all-consuming condition. When she was eleven, she was diagnosed with Purely-Obsessional OCD, a condition that hits her with an endless stream of dark thoughts and worries she cannot shut off.

She’s hidden it well, primarily from her group of friends, the Crazy Eights. They’ve been besties since early grade school and are among the most popular sixteen year olds in her high school. It hasn’t been easy. Sam, as she would like to be called, has been on medication and seeing Sue, a psychiatrist, for five years, but still has moments when she can’t back away from really scary thoughts. She’s obsessed with number three-the odometer on her car must stop at it whenever she parks her car, she swims in lane three (she’s a really good swimmer and hopes to get a college scholarship), if she’s stressing, she scratches the back of her neck in intervals of three.

When she’s really upset by one of her friends, she hides out in the school theater where she meets Caroline. As they talk, Sam opens up, even telling her about her OCD and being in therapy. In return, Caroline tells her about dealing with depression and invites her to meet a secret group of teens who have a room under the theater called Poet’s Corner. A.J. The first person Sam meets when entering the room, is cold and distant, telling her they’ve met before, but not saying more. At first, Sam can’t make the connection, but it’s at the lunch table with the Crazy Eights when Kaitlyn, the de facto leader of the group, reminds her of what happened when they were in fifth grade with A.J.

This starts some serious soul searching on Sam’s part and she tries, with Caroline’s help, to write a poem that will reflect her remorse for what happened. It takes a while, but she’s forgiven and then the sparks begin between Sam and A.J. They’re really good for each other and she’s beginning to develop some self-confidence when she learns something so mind boggling it makes her question everything she thinks is real. The author does a stellar job of pulling readers from her melt down through to the conclusion. This is a superb story, full of emotion and a cast of characters, not all nice, but all very real.

The book is an excellent one for any type of library to ad, particularly ones where teens struggle with mental health issues.

The Summer After You and Me by Jennifer Salvato Doktorski, Sourcebooks Fire, 2015. ISBN: 9781492619031

Almost everyone remembers watching the horrible damage inflicted when Hurricane Sandy marched up the eastern seaboard. Many of us had friends and relatives who were in or near enough to its path that we worried until we knew they were safe. In this book, Jennifer brings alive what it was like to experience Sandy both in the physical and emotional sense.

Lucy’s lived on the Jersey shore all her life along with her teacher parents and three minute older twin brother Liam. The twins were very close for a long time and were competitive in almost every activity, from academics, to chess, to surfing. Lucy is beginning to realize that they’re growing apart and she’s unsure where Liam’s hostility is coming from.

The family lived on the mainland with their gram until the house was rebuilt sufficiently to allow them to return. Unfortunately flood insurance payments didn’t cover everything, so the cottage the family has rented every summer to cover taxes is a wreck. So is Lucy, thanks to what happened with next door summer neighbor, Connor, who Lucy’s been attracted to for a long time It was the day Sandy was about to hit, and generated another, internal storm. She expected him to call her afterward as he promised, but never got any response. Several months later, her long time friendship with Andrew crossed the line to romance, but she still can’t stop replaying that day in the house by the ocean with Connor.

When he returns, it starts a chain of events that, for Lucy, is like a train wreck in progress. After a disaster at prom, it seems like everything and everyone is angry at her and she’s not sure how much of it she owns or should own. It takes a near tragedy on her part to shock everyone into starting the healing and getting-back-to-friends process.

This is Jen’s third book and I’ve really liked them all. This is a great book for young adults who have been through their own personal storm, or struggle with friendships with the opposite sex to read as they will find that relating to Lucy and her growing-up pains is an easy thing. Another good addition for both school and public libraries.

The Game of Love and Death by Martha Brockenbrough. Arthur A. Levine Books (April 28, 2015) , ISBN: 9780545668347.

Aren’t we all sometimes pawns in the game of life? Love and Death have been playing the same game over and over since the time of Cleopatra. Each chooses an infant, one male, one female who will meet when they’re older and fall in love…maybe. If love persists, Love wins, if love falters, Death wins and claims her chosen as a victim.

It’s 1920 and the latest round is about to begin, this time in Seattle with two babies who couldn’t be further apart given the times. Love chooses first by appearing in the nursery where Henry Bishop, a Caucasian, lies in his crib. Love pricks his finger and lets baby Henry suckle on his blood, thus setting his part of the game in motion.

One night later in a much poorer neighborhood, Death pickes up a baby girl of African-American heritage named Flora Saudade. After carrying the child to the window where they watch snow falling, Death sheds one black tear which she captures on her fingertip, using it to write the word someday on the infant’s forehead. Thus is the game sealed.

While the rules of the game often seem arbitrary and stacked in Death’s favor, Love harbors little ill will toward his opponent (Love is male, Death, female). Both can assume whatever shape they choose, even appearing for extended periods as people familiar to their chosen players. In fact it is this very ability that factors into how both Flora and Henry interact when they meet seventeen years later.

By then, Flora’s parents have been dead a very long time, having perished when hit by a drunken police officer the night Death chose her. Henry is likewise an orphan. His mother and sister perished in an influenza outbreak and his father, terribly distraught by their loss, jumped to his death, leaving Henry to be taken in by his father’s best friend, the owner of the Seattle newspaper.

Flora has fallen in love with flying and has been taken under the wing of a French war hero who owns a fancy biplane that she maintains and flies whenever she’s allowed. Her other source of income comes from singing jazz in the club she and her uncle own, the only legacy left after her parents’ death. She’s an amazing singer, something Henry discovers when he convinces his best friend and son of his benefactor, Ethan, that they should check out the club. This isn’t the first time Henry has seen Flora. Ethan took him along when he went to do a feature on the plane and Flora was running a preflight check on it. Henry is also someone who has music in his blood as he plays the bass and loves to improvise.

While Death has never lost, there’s something about this match that worries her, so she pulls out all the stops, as if the fact that blacks and whites simply don’t mix in 1937 wasn’t sufficient to doom any sort of spark between Flora and Henry. The roadblocks thrown up in front of each lover, the direness of the times and all the gyrations both the players and their manipulators must go through by the end of the story will keep most readers enthralled. While the pace might be a bit slow for some, I loved this book, the characters and the sense of elegance it creates. Astute readers will also appreciate the relationship and insight Love and Dearth have with and about each other. Teens and adults who like an offbeat love story with some decidedly paranormal aspects will enjoy this book.

Not After Everything by Michelle Levy, Dial, 2015. ISBN: 9780803741584

Oh, what evil we do to our children in the name of love. Tyler’s removed himself from everything he cared about except for his dog. It wasn’t that long ago when he was alive with optimism, had stellar grades in all AP classes, was star of the football team and had a hot girlfriend. All that went up in flames the day he came home from practice to get dry socks and Advil, only to find his mom had killed herself in the bathtub. She left no note, just incredible pain and guilt, plus an alcoholic and horrible abusive (both verbally and physically) husband and a broken son.

When the story opens, Tyler still has the girlfriend, but can’t engage emotionally any more, he’s quit the football team and, while his grades remain high, he’s lost interest in class as well as the scholarship awaiting him at Stanford.

His father, wallowing in perhaps the most virulent self-loathing ever written about, makes his life miserable and unpredictable whenever Ty’s home. Perhaps the only person he even comes close to relating to is Dave, the therapist assigned to him by social services after Mom’s suicide. Even then, Ty locks down most of what’s happening inside and outside. His father makes him pay for everything and when Ty loses it at Subway where he works, things look pretty bleak.

Then he stumbles upon Henry and his photography studio where he’s hired on the spot. Ty’s shocked when he realizes that the angry goth girl he saw at school a while before is also working there and that she and her mom live with Henry and it works really well. When he starts verbally sparring with her, he realizes she’s Jordyn, the girl who was his best friend when they were kids until her parents divorced.

Their edgy and uneven relationship, Henry’s understanding of why Ty’s a mess and the escalating violence at home, all come together in a series of crises that had me blow off everything I planned to do the day this book arrived so I could find out what happened next. Having grown up with a less traumatic version dad than Ty, I could visualize what was going on like I was crouching in the corner. I couldn’t stop flashing back to Laurie Halse Anderson’s The Impossible Knife of Memory time after time while reading this book, because it does for abuse and parental suicide what that does for PTSD. The ending, while logical, will probably break your heart. This is beautiful, violent, profane and an awesome story for teens. School and public libraries shouldn’t let the sex, profanity and violence be deal breakers when considering adding it to their collection.

Weekend Update: October 3-4, 2015

Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be posts by John Clark (Monday), Kate Flora (Tuesday), Maureen Milliken (Wednesday), Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson (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:

From Kaitlyn Dunnett: The paperback of Ho-Ho-Homicide is now in stores. The paperback reprint of the previous year’s title is always a sure sign the next book is coming soon in hardcover. In this case, it’s The Scottie Barked at Midnight, publication date October 27. Look for giveaways in my Thursday post. There’s also a blog about the Scotties at Hobby Reads

Meanwhile, the ebook edition of my Halloween book, Vampires, Bones and Treacle Scones, is on sale for $1.99 until November 4.  Here are the links you can use:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1POjpfB

B&N: http://bit.ly/1KSoMH9

iBooks: http://apple.co/1OH39Q9

Google play: http://bit.ly/1O2PMbt

Kobo: http://bit.ly/1QLyC1i

Vampires, Bones, and Treacle Scones is number seven in the Liss MacCrimmon  series, Ho-Ho-Homicide is number eight, and The Scottie Barked at Midnight is number nine. The tenth book, to be published in 2016, is titled Kilt at the Highland Games.

And Kathy’s husband, Sandy Emerson, was featured in an article this week, announcing that he, too, has joined the crime writing community. You can read it here:

http://www.dailybulldog.com/db/features/local-author-brings-dallas-plantation-detective-to-readers-in-red-dawn/#comment-541643

Lea Wait: 

Friday, October 2, I’ll be spending the morning with 5th and 6th graders at the Pemetic School in Southwest Harbor, Maine, and the afternoon at the Tremont Consolidated School, just down the road. Saturday, October 3, I’ll be one of the many authors and illustrators of books for young people at the http://www.barharborbookfestival.com, which includes talks, readings, workshops, signings … .and, best of all, is open to the public.  (Need to do some Christmas shopping for the under-15 set on your list?)

John Clark:

I’m happy to report that I sold my short story Lady Be Good to the online magazine Mystery Weekly  http://MysteryWeekly.com

 

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

 

My Writers Group

Hi. Barb here. Still recuperating from knee replacement surgery, but doing better, thanks.

I just looked back at 5 years worth of my posts on this blog (which is an interesting journey in and of itself) and was astonished to confirm that in all that time, I have never written about my writers group. I’ve referenced them in passing, but never talked about the group specifically.

I can’t believe it. Because there is no question I would not be here, a published author, an editor and publisher, a Maine Crime Writer, without them.

There are now five of us and we’ve been together, in one form or another, for twenty years. It all started in a class at the Cambridge Center for Adult Education. It was an advanced mystery-writing course taught by Barbara Shapiro, author of the The Art Forger. (Her new novel, The Muralist, will be out next month.) Barbara is a fantastic teacher. She taught me things about scene cards and scaffolding that first draft that I use to this day. But in addition to teaching technique, Barbara taught us how to workshop–how to read others’ work carefully, how to critique and how to be critiqued. And for that, I will be forever grateful.

My writers group. From left Barb Ross, Leslie Wheeler, Mark Ammons, Kat Fast. Laughing, as we so often do. Leslie calls us the Car Talk of writers groups. Absent: Cheryl Marceau

Several of us in the class decided we wanted to continue workshopping our mystery novels–and that it was impractical to pay the Cambridge Center for the privilege. So we formed a writers group. Not one of us had more than a few chapters of our first mystery written. Mark Ammons, Leslie Wheeler and I were in that core group, along with Marge Leibenstein. A year or so later, I was walking in Harvard Square and ran into Kat Fast. She and I had been work colleagues and we had one of those “what are you doing?” “what are you doing?” conversations. When I mentioned I was writing a mystery, Kat’s face lit up. So was she! She became the next to join us. Cheryl Marceau joined several years after that.

Writer’s groups have lots of different formats. Ours continues to be the one we learned from Barbara. One to three people are “up” for the week (depending on number of pages). If you are up, you email your pages out by Saturday evening. Everyone shows up for the meeting on Thursday having read and made extensive notes on the work.

Each reader gives feedback in turn. In the early years when we were learning to trust one another, we followed the rule about mentioning the things we liked first. In our later years we are more apt to get straight down to it. The person being critiqued remains quiet, taking notes. They have a chance to ask questions at the end.

Each of us has different strengths.

Mark teaches drama to acting students at the Boston Conservatory. He knows more about dramatic structure than I could ever hope to. (Six books in and I feel like I’m just beginning to internalize it.) He’s also incredibly visual, which is helpful for those of us who are not, both in making our scenes more vivid and more accurate.

Leslie has the memory of an elephant. She will say, “I don’t like this as much as I liked your approach to this scene in your 42nd draft two years ago.” And you are thinking, “What approach to this scene? Was I actually working on this story two years ago?” And she will be right, every time.

Cheryl is that most cherished of people, an intelligent reader. She will tell you when you are hitting her over the head with something or cluttering your story up with information she doesn’t need. On the flip side, when she says, “I don’t get this,” pay attention. This is particularly valuable to me because I tend to underwrite in early drafts.

Kat is an amazing editor. My Level Best stories always start out as first drafts of 7000 or more words. Working on my own, I can usually get them down to 5500. Then I give them to Kat who takes out the last 500. I usually find a way to add back in two or three. Out of 500. The rest are never missed.

Of course, after all this time, we also know each others’ foibles. Kat doesn’t have a TV and is somehow immune to all print and cyber celebrity news and gossip. When she says, “I don’t know who this Kim Kardashian is. Should you explain?” I know to ignore her.

Others have come and gone. Sadly, Marge died in 2001. I still miss her. Some members have moved away geographically (sniff, sniff, Gin Mackey) while others decided fiction writing wasn’t central to their lives. And we’ve had to fire a few. The most common reasons for firing were people who didn’t actually want critiquing, just to be told how great their writing is; people who were all about themselves, expecting detailed critiques, but not putting the work in for others; and people who just didn’t write. This is a problem, especially early on when building a trust relationship. You can’t critique other people week after week and never put yourself on the line.

How did this wonderful group of people keep me writing? Aside from all the things I learned from critiquing their work and being critiqued by them, I knew writing was the price of admission. If I wanted to keep seeing these people who had come to mean so much to me, I had to keep writing. So I did. Even when the job was busy. Even when the teenagers were demanding. Even when my first agent dropped me and I wanted to crawl into a hole. I kept writing because it was the price of admission.

Not every writer finds a writers group helpful, but this writer did. Invaluable, in fact.