It’s a marathon, not a sprint

Kate Flora: So many times, over the years, someone in the audience of an author talk or in a class will be looking for the magic answer. What should they do to make the book a bestseller? I heard the answer, or at least a version of it, maybe thirty years ago from a talk Sue Grafton gave. She said there are no shortcuts and there is no magic. She told the room full of writers and aspiring writers that they should expect it to take at least five years to begin making money. I’ve always appreciated hearing the truth from editors, publishers, and other writers. It helps to keep my perspective when things are down and to stay modest when things are up. The truth is that there are no easy answers. Writing is learned on the job and, if you’re serious about being a writer, it’s a lifelong job.

Kate shares a moment with Harlan Coben

Another thing that helps me keep balanced when the book won’t write or the rejections are piling up is the crime writing community. Although we are alone at the desk, we have a peer group to turn to. It was so comforting the first time I heard someone else talk about the characters in her head getting impatient for her to get back to the keyboard and let them out. It’s helpful to know I am not alone when a publisher drops a series that I love, or when an editor hates the title or wants a longer ending or wants the action pumped up in a way that doesn’t feel authentic for the characters. There’s even knowing other writers have had the surprise of an editor taking the book they believed was a standalone and wants to know when the next book in the series will be ready.

As opposed to the person who wants to quickly write a bestseller and become rich, there are those patient and persistent authors who sell their first book after six, eight, ten, or even fifteen years in the unpublished writer’s corner. They never gave up. They believed in their writing and their right to write. And persistence made them better.

I do disagree with Sue about the magic, though. That magic may be rare, and it absolutely requires sitting in the chair for hours when the finding the words or sorting out the plot is painful and painstaking. But there are those moments of flow, when the story comes almost faster than I can type. When it feels like magical writing, some entity telling the story through me. Yes. That’s magic. And there is always the fascination that comes from storytelling at all. What could be more magical than being able to create an entire world and fill it with people who usually do what we tell them and sometimes misbehave? What could be more magical than seeing the whole world as a venue for new ideas? For characters? For settings and dialogue?

I published my first book in 1994 after ten years in the unpublished writers corner and

My first published book

despite the ups and the downs, so far I haven’t stopped. Maybe I’ve slowed down a bit. Some days, I think I could quit running this marathon and regain all those hours at the keyboard and out in the world talking about writing and selling books. But then I think about the books I love that I haven’t sold yet. The book ideas that are still pressing to be written. The sequel to a suspense novel I wrote as Katharine Clark (new publisher/new name) because I’ve always wondered what happened to my characters.

So, in my book (hee hee), there aren’t any quick tricks. There’s good advice: If you want to write a best-seller, read best-sellers. If you want to write an acclaimed mystery, read the past five years of Edgar finalists. Take a book you admire apart and see what the author did that hooked you. Think about character and point of view and setting and pacing and plot. Why did it work for you? Or take a book you didn’t like and do the same. Why didn’t it work? What would you have done differently? Yes, all of that is work. But as anyone who has a good  job knows, the job is compelling, fulfilling, worth doing because it has challenges. Because it’s important. So if storytelling is important to you, recognize that you’re lacing up your writer’s shoes and running a marathon. And if your journey is anything like mine, the finish line will always be moving because you’ll never be ready for the race to end.

 

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Weekend Update: June 13-14, 2026

Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be posts by Kate Flora (Monday), Brenda Buchanan (Tuesday), Maureen Milliken (Thursday), and Dick Cass (Friday), with an interview with Jennifer Breedlove on Wednesday.

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

Matt Cost will give a COST TALK at the Hartland Public Library on June 18th at 4 PM. The focus of the talk will be on The Modern-Day Chronicles of Max Creed, the Robin Hood-esque billionaire looking to find justice for those wronged by the ultra-wealthy.

 

This Saturday!

Allison Keeton will be signing her Midcoast Maine Mystery books at Sherman’s in Damariscotta on Saturday, June 13 from 1pm-3pm

 

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, along with the very popular “Making a Mystery” with audience participation, and “Casting Call: How We Staff Our Mysteries.” We also do programs on Zoom. Contact Kate Flora

 

AND DON’T FORGET! One lucky Maine Crime Writers reader who leaves a comment on the blog this month will win a bundle of books!

 

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The Tale of the Clocks

Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson here, today offering an excerpt from my 2008 Agatha-Award-winning non-fiction book, How to Write Killer Historical Mysteries. Unlike most how-to books, mine isn’t just my take on writing. It also includes numerous anecdotes and bits of advice from other published historical mystery writers and touches on several topics that came up over the course 2005-2007 in the Crime Thru Time (CTT) online discussion group.

 A topic that was addressed more than once on the CTT listserv concerns how people told time in past ages. One discussion started with a question about the accuracy of referring to the quarter hour in a monastery in the 1530s. This struck a good many people as anachronistic, myself included. How would this person know the time to that degree? Clocks were rare, weren’t they? And expensive. Weren’t most people still telling time by the sun or by cock crow? Or perhaps, by the ringing of church bells? But how often did those ring, and how accurate were they?

a water clock

It didn’t take long for members of CTT to chime in with the results of their research. It turns out that sixteenth-century people were familiar with the concept of minutes and that most monasteries in the 1530s probably had water clocks. Simple, inexpensive versions of these had been available since ancient times. Is there a great deal of evidence of this in period writings? There is some, but I couldn’t recall coming across any reference to water clocks in over thirty years of research into everyday life in the era. Why not? The answer, when I thought about it, was simple. People don’t mention the commonplace. You wouldn’t necessarily mention how your character knew it was ten past six if you were writing a mystery set in 2008. Your reader would assume your character glanced at a watch or a clock.

Omitting similar information in a historical mystery, however, can result in a true fact being questioned by readers. It must have bothered some of them quite a bit or they wouldn’t have posted on CTT. So, if you have a situation akin to this one in your novel, what do you do? Do you make some reference to the water clock—or a sundial, or whatever means of telling time is appropriate—to prevent readers from wondering how the character knew? Or do you follow Joan Blos’s test (cited in Chapter Eight), and leave it out because “the equivalent detail” would not be mentioned in a contemporary novel? The only answer I have to offer is that you will have to decide on a case-by-case basis.

How to Write Killer Historical Novels: The Art and Adventure of Sleuthing Through the Past (2008) was also a finalist for the Anthony and Macavity awards. Reviewer Marv Lachman, in Deadly Pleasures, called it “the best book about writing mysteries that I have ever read.” It is available in a slightly revised and updated 2022 edition in both e-book and trade paperback formats.

Kathy Lynn Emerson/Kaitlyn Dunnett has had sixty-four books traditionally published and has self published others. 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. In 2023 she won the Lea Wait Award for “excellence and achievement” from the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance. She was the Malice Domestic Guest of Honor in 2014. She is currently working on creating new editions of her backlist titles. Her website is www.KathyLynnEmerson.com.

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The Challenges of Writing an Amateur Sleuth Mystery

There are multiple subgenres of mysteries, such as police procedurals, private investigator mysteries, and legal mysteries. I, however, write “amateur sleuth” on the “cozy adjacent” spectrum, emphasizing community and relationships over violence.

The most famous amateur sleuth is Miss Marple, created by Dame Agatha Christie. Miss Marple is believable because she isn’t out to one-up the police. Her gift is observation and understanding people, not superior detective skills.

Various Miss Marples

But that brings us to the biggest challenge with writing an amateur sleuth. How does the writer answer this simple question:

Why isn’t the police handling this?

Often it is because the amateur sleuth knows the victim or is accused themselves and works to clear their name or the name of a close friend or relative, but there are also other writing challenges such as:

1. Access to Information
A police detective can pull records, officially interview suspects, and examine evidence.

An amateur sleuth can’t.

The writer has to create plausible reasons for the amateur to learn legal and investigatory information. In my series, Raven Ouelette is the main protagonist and is married to the county sheriff, which helps with some information. I also give points of view to one of the deputies and to Raven’s father, a retired police officer. The reader can learn clues and information in a more logical way and without Raven having to be everywhere.

2. Avoiding Unrealistic Behavior
Many amateur sleuths should realistically be told, “Stay out of this.” Raven is definitely told by her husband to stay out of it, but if she listened, I couldn’t have a book.

3. Maintaining Stakes
Professional detectives investigate because it’s their job.

Amateurs need personal stakes:
–A friend is accused.
–A family member is missing.
–Their reputation is on the line.
–The crime threatens their community.

Miss Marple’s motives are rarely personal, however. She comes from a place of justice, a desire to protect her community, and a nosiness, I mean, an intellectual curiosity.

4. Balancing Competence
If the sleuth is too smart, readers will wonder why they aren’t a full-time detective.
If the sleuth is too clueless, readers lose confidence in the story or become bored.

5. Small-Town Problems
My series takes place in Midcoast Maine and is set primarily within a three- to four-town community. Everyone knows everyone else. New people and visitors are noticed. This raises the questions:

—How can the killer operate unnoticed?
—How many murders can one town or area realistically have?
—If it revolves around a secret, why doesn’t everyone already know it?

6. Keeping the Police Credible
Police shouldn’t be portrayed as idiots solely to make the amateur shine. The strongest mysteries usually feature competent law enforcement who simply lack one crucial piece of information that the amateur possesses.

In my series, the characters often know the suspects personally. The amateur sleuth investigation isn’t often about solving a puzzle involving strangers—it’s about discovering that your neighbor, fishing buddy, former teacher, or town selectman may be hiding something. That emotional conflict might even be more compelling than the mystery itself.

If I’m honest with myself, I believe the real reason I write amateur sleuth is that I have always wanted to be one. The first Nancy Drew book I read was The Hidden Staircase. I went around knocking on walls at my parents’ house, only to learn my father had built it. He swore he hadn’t hidden anything. That was a disappointing day.

Until there comes a time when I can actually investigate for real, I’ll live vicariously through my characters.


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Don’t forget! Leave a comment on any June blog post to be entered into a drawing for free books!

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Allison Keeton writes the Midcoast Maine Mystery series. Arctic Green, Book Two, is now available. She can be reached at http://www.akeetonbooks.com. Check out the event tab on her website to see where she’ll show up next!

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GUARANTEED WEIGHT LOSS

Jule Selbo

Monday, May 25, 2026.  Weight: 560 pounds.  I dreamt fat.  I couldn’t get out of bed because extra flesh was weighing me down. My cheeks drooped past my jaw and swung on my shoulders. My toes were too big for my shoes. I went to the doctor, and this is what he said: Finish the damn book.

Monday, June 1, 2026. Weight: 10,004 pounds. Extra heavy fluid on my brain was trying to ooze out my ears. My ass was so big I couldn’t fit through doorways. My ankles looked like an elephant’s. I switched doctors, hoping for a magic pill. This is what she said:  Finish the damn book.

Monday, June 8, 2026:

Weight: I looked like a model. Paris was calling for the next Stella McCarthy show, there was a tube dress that only me – the model with no-extra-body-fat could wear. I felt like renting a billboard on Times Square:  6 DAYS, A Dee Rommel Mystery, coming soon.

MONTHS PREVIOUSLY WHILE IN WEIGHT DENIAL:

I had taken to lying because it was the only encouragement available to me.  “Almost there”. “Two more chapters, know exactly what I need to do, should be quick”.  “Gotta finish the big climax and then I’ll sail to the end”.

I live in a large condo building; there are about 150 plus residents and it’s cool to realize some are Dee Rommel fans. But before June 8, I had taken to leaving the building before sun-up and coming back after normal bedtimes because well-meaning people were stopping me at the mailboxes or in the hallways to tell me of their disappointment that my yearly Dee Rommel book was not ready for their normal holiday-present-giving. But they became kinder when they saw the panic on my face and although their interior voices were saying ‘shame on you’, they would smile and ask for a publication date that I could not give them.

Halfway through the writing of 6 DAYS, I’d realized I had opted for complication and not complexity. I’d put off making necessary decisions that would get me on the “slide to the finish”. I got stubborn and didn’t want to go back into the chapters I had already completed and semi-polished. I was a little kid stomping my foot and refusing to take that much-needed bath.

Finally, I had to go into clean-up mode. The shower took a few months – but that wasn’t  as long as I thought it would be and it wasn’t as painful a scrub as I had anticipated. Water-logged and wrinkly-skinned, I excised two characters and committed to my bad guy being even badder.  That chapter that had become my biggest and heaviest bug-a-boo “wrote itself” (Ha! But you know what I mean -).

I had been walking around with 700-pound barbells on my shoulders and wearing wrist and ankle weights as earrings for too long. I shucked them into the dumpster.

Finally, the day of writing “THE END” manifested itself like the yearly sing-along of the Hallelujah Chorus at Portland’s Blue Room Barroom Messiah.  Thanks to all who put up with me during my oh-so serious weight gain –  see you at the gym!

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Forget AI, Consider BI

Nar getting some rays

John Clark is wrestling with the insidiousness of mortality, and the results, while not pretty, are darkly humorous. Given that, I hope this literary exercise in creative insanity meets your approval.

A few years ago, Kate and I briefly considered creating a series called the Bodice Repair Mysteries, or some such thing. This was partly to parody old time romance pulps, but also in response to the increasing use of profanity and gratuitous sex scenes. Well, both have gotten a lot worse…even in YA fiction, my genre of choice. I think it’s safe to say that this trend is mirrored in current society as well. I’m neither a saint, nor a prude, but I can write a short story or have a conversation without needing to drop any F-bombs. With that said, let me introduce you to Werbshiker and Narpoozle. They, along with some crystal mice who spoke Russian, appeared during an acid trip some 50 years ago. The mice emigrated to Nigeria where they disappeared in the jungle, but Werb and Nar have hung around, hoping I’d give them their own story.

We’ll start with their backstory. Werb is a sentient garden gnome, brought to life by a super powerful lightning strike in San Marino, California. Nar is a six foot tall Banana Slug who escaped from a clandestine research lab at one of the branches of the University of California. As best he can recall, the scientists were trying to create cheap labor, so he believes some of his genetic material came from migrant workers, but since he has a tendency to wax poetic, he suspects some of it came from Alan Ginsberg or Richard Brautigan.

To honor their patience and interest in literary bodice repair, I’ve reanimated them and set these fine fellows up as investigators, somewhat like the Ghostbusters. Please note that they ARE NOT attempting to invoke censorship, but are willing and able to intercede when a work in progress strays into smut and sex where a decently crafted plot would do better. They’re happy to offer one or more alternatives from their arsenal. Read on.

Cut to a dusty office in a rural Maine town. Werb and Nar are in the process of organizing their new operational HQ as soon as the crew from Bubba’s Bait and Broom finishes spiffing it.

Werb stifles a cough as he opens the first box of literary resources. “Dang Nar, I do believe we have a real challenge just to get organized. I can barely believe some of these haven’t vanished from the collective memory.”

Nar, busy applying a fresh coat of Panama Banana Sheen to keep his appearance up to snuff, reaches into the box and holds a barely used phrase up to the light. “”Ooh, I surely like this one. My stars and garters. Best we put it in the drawer, no pun intended, with Don’t get your panties in a twist, and Pantywaist.”

Werb nods in agreement. Shouldn’t Bouncing Betties go in there too?”

Aye, matey, but best be careful or there be Not enough room to swing a cat in that’un.”

Nar, losing patience with Bubba’s crew, shoos them out and proceeds to dump the rest of box one on the table which is splotted with a substance resembling as mix of splooshed deer ticks and pistachio ice cream (It was included in the lease at no cost, so our duo ran with it).

“Jezum crowbar, Werb, We’re gonna be busier than a fart in a mitten if we want to get set up in time to work on our first case come Monday,” Nar shook his head, while sorting out the mess.

An hour later, several more drawers had been partially filled, based upon mutually agreed categories. There was the behavioral description pullout that had a strong Maine flavor. In it were Wound up tighter than a teddy bear, Wingnut, Gawmy, Some hot suppah, Ain’t you cunnin’, Boiled as an owl, Tougher than a bag of hammers, Godfrey Diamonds, and My kitchen table has better legs.

The better sex(ual) description lot was sparser, but Werb hoped he’s find some additional ones at the Wesserunsett literary flea market over the fourth of July. Thus far all they had were, Animated lobster claw, Perfect Johnson, Quivering bosom, His glistening pistil broached her eager petals, Pulsing Virginia, and They caused angels to scream loud enough to shake the windows. He paused before tossing one into the waste basket. “Activated ejaculation system sounds too much like it came from a military training manual.”

The retro sayings required two drawers and threatened to occupy a third. Some inside were more common, but a few were, as Nar aptly put it, as quaint as a hame.”

“I’m still nonplussed by many of these,” Werb said, as he attempted to alphabetize them. He proceeded to read them aloud, shaking his head while doing so. “We’ve accumulated Not enough room to swing a cat, Armed to the teeth, Boil the ocean, By cracky, Jumping Jehoshaphat, Darker than a pocket in here, Go lay in the road and count mufflers, Tight enough to rupture Abe on a penny, That’ll put some red in your rhubarb, Well hemlock tips and buttermilk, If ya cahn’t drive it, park it and throw rocks at it, That smell would make a skunk sick, and Five months of winter, seven months of rough sledding.”

Nar grinned, quite a feat for a Banana Slug given the shape of his mouth. “Good thing we planned a miscellaneous drawer ain’t it. We have some sure Jim Dandies here, like scrid or a dite, muckle onto, pooched, bang a uey, Ayhu, Chummy, dubbin around, all stove to hell, humdingah, ass over teakettle, cattywampus, and lickety split. Guess we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”

Werb still enjoys getting stoned every so often

Stay tuned to find out how well our derring duo do as literary bodice repairers. While you’re at it, what other replacements might you suggest they stock?

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Sprinting

It’s officially that time of year where we are sprinting. Job stuff. Writing stuff. Kid stuff. Trying to coordinate who is taking whom where. Dinner on the fly. Those blue Takis? Sure. Maybe those have protein. Did you feed the dog? Did we accidentally feed the dog twice? Again? And by the way did you hear the weird noise our car is making?

But even with the breathlessness of right now, I’m trying to savor things.

In a few weeks we’ll be in full summer mode:  a time of irregular schedules, with a million camps, and my kids disappearing to do God only knows what by those train tracks even though I told them a million times not to.

Last year, after an incident that I may write about some day, one of my son’s famously said, “You never told us we couldn’t set things on fire.”

Which gives you a sense of what we’re up against.


In Appreciation of William Collagan from the Moses Wheeler

This year, the Maine Historical Society hosted an afternoon pre-conference workshop for the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance. Elizabeth DeWolfe (remember THIS post?) shared how she goes about researching and writing. Katie Alleman, the amazing librarian at the Brown Research Library, scoured her archives to find fascinating crime-related artifacts for us to look at.

The artifact that really stood out to me was a Captain’s Log from 1861, in which William Collagan from the Moses Wheeler, accounted for his time. In it, he tracked the stars and storms and sketched the fish and birds and ships he encountered.

Maybe this summer I can drag my kids to that fried clam place and then we can go off in search of William’s grave at the Evergreen Cemetery.

My kids already think I’m a little weird, what with the writing about murder. So this will track.


Little League Majors Finals

Last week my husband and I went with my kids to the Little League Majors Finals at Loring Park. My kids watched the game from the fence. James and I talked to other parents and ate popcorn on the bleachers.

From the field, you can see Back Cove and the playground and the trail along Baxter Boulevard. You can see the joggers and the dog walkers. And you can hear the pickle-ballers.

When the game was over, one of our friends said, “If you would have told me ten years ago that I’d be spending my Friday night watching somebody else’s kid play baseball, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

I agreed.

Until recently, I didn’t know much about baseball.

I watched the Ken Burns documentary to try to keep up with my sons. It was informative but I still don’t really understand what a dropped third is.

I am, however, waiting for an opportunity to reference Merkle’s Boner.


A Noir at the Bar Reading

The Crime Wave Noir at the Bar was a lot of fun. Others might post about it, so I’ll keep it brief. We had 10 readers, five minutes apiece, a hotdog truck and cold brews and colder rain. At peak around 90 people listening and the amazing Jule Selbo and Matt Cost moderating.

I loved all the readings but really enjoyed Rebecca Turkewitz’s story (so sad and creepy!), Mo Drammeh’s story (because his stuff is so unique and unexpected), and Travis Kennedy (so, so funny and weird.)

The piece I read was “Lord Willing and the Creek Don’t Rise.” I’m hoping to have it cleaned up a little more and submitted for publication soon.

It was a great audience and a great group of writers.

Special appreciation to the amazingly talented photographer and writer Lucas Brilliott for snapping this picture of me reading.


Events:

Just in case you’re looking for something to get up to this summer, here are a few things crime writing related you may want to check out.

I’ll be doing a book talk with the amazing Jennifer Breedlove on 6/30 at the Briar Patch in Bangor at 7:00. You all will get a sneak interview with her here on June 17.

Matt Cost, Travis Kennedy, Timothy Queeney and I will sit down to together for a Writers on Writing (WOW) panel at the Windham Public Library on July 29 at 6:00.

Ryan Lowell and I will get together to talk about his debut Freight: A Novel at Longfellow Books in Portland on August 11.

Margot Anne Kelley, Robert Kelley, and I will get together at the Jackson Memorial Library in Tenants Harbor on August 27 at 5:00.

Dick Cass and I will sit down to talk about his latest novel at Longfellow Books in Portland on September 1.

There are a group of us working to organize some more community crime readings in Kittery, Rockland, Bangor, and Portland. More details on these soon.


Be well and hopefully our paths cross soon.

Posted in Gabi's Posts | 9 Comments

Weekend Update: June 6-7, 2026

Next week at Maine Crime Writers there will be posts by Gabi Stiteler (Monday), John Clark (Tuesday), Jule Selbo (Wednesday), Allison Keeton (Thursday), and Kaitlyn Dunnett/Kathy Lynn Emerson (Friday).

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

Matt Cost will be giving a COST TALK about EveryThing vs. Max Creed, book two in The Modern-Day Chronicles of Max Creed, at the Rumford Public Library on Wednesday, June 10, at 5 PM.

On Friday, June 12, from 4-7 PM, Cost will be hawking his books on the sidewalks of Brunswick for their 2nd Friday of the month festival. Come for the music, enjoy the downtown, have a bite to eat, and go home with a book. Write on. More Info.

 

 

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, along with the very popular “Making a Mystery” with audience participation, and “Casting Call: How We Staff Our Mysteries.” We also do programs on Zoom. Contact Kate Flora

 

AND DON’T FORGET! One lucky Maine Crime Writers reader who leaves a comment on the blog this month will win a bundle of books!

 

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Clipping Along

What is it about yard work that instills both dread and contentment? As a writer, I never look forward to mowing the lawn. And yet when it’s a beautiful day, it pains me to sit inside and write. For this reason I have developed a love/hate relationship with my outdoor duties.

Admittedly, working out in the yard is a wonderful diversion to writing. My routine usually starts with a vigorous bout of morning writing. If it goes well, I will write through lunch and then stop mid-afternoon. Usually by that time, my creative juices have run out and I need a break. Other times I get stuck much earlier and sit staring at the computer screen, paralyzed with indecision. In both of these instances, yard work seems like a great alternative to dawdling the day away. By afternoon all the dew has seeped off the blades of grass, making it much easier to push my lawn over through it.

Let’s mow!

This is when I enjoy mowing the lawn best. I pull the mower out of the garage, fill it with gas, and then screw the cap back on. The tang of unleaded gasoline informs me of what I’m about to do. This mower, unlike my last one, does not have a primer that needs pumping. I position it where I want to start mowing and then jerk the cord back. The first time it never starts. But sometimes I pull a muscle trying to rip-start it. I try two more times until finally the engine roars to life; music to my ears.

Now I can do something mindless and physical and let my mind roam freely. Maybe I can come up with some fresh ideas for my story in progress. How many times during any given day to we have moments when we’re not talking, watching TV or listening to the radio, reading a book, or engaging with something or someone? How often do we just let our minds wander? Let our brain play freely in the amusement park of life and not have to think?

Without overthinking things, I work on my strategy. The backyard gets a lot of shade. The front dries out faster. But it’s afternoon and the back should be dry so I decide to tackle the back first. It’s basically an odd shaped parallelogram with three large pine trees and two fenced sides, with an open back. I start at the corner and navigate the borders of the patio, picking up the odd corners and angles that abut the parallelogram. Now I can shut my mind off and just mow.

But sometimes the grass is so long that the engine sputters, and I have to angle the blade up so the motor doesn’t die out on me. I continue forward, mowing slowly while watching out for all the branches that had come down from the wind storm last night. Picking up pine comes and tossing them into the woods. Mowing even slower over some of the weedier areas.

Once done with the back part of the yard, I stop and examine my work. The smell of freshly cut grass lingers in my nostrils, and I revel in it. A good feeling comes over me when I see what I’ve done. It looks a bit like Augusta Country Club. Okay, well not that good, but at the moment it feels like I could pull out a seven iron and hole one in from here.

I make my way through the narrow corridor between my neighbor’s lean-to fence and my garage, making at least four passes until the lawn there is perfectly level. Then I head out and take care of the front lawn.

There are two levels. I start with the upper level first, specifically the right side of the house. It’s a square and I finish that side quickly. Ideas start to percolate in my head and the characters in my novel begin to speak to me in ways they never do.

I cross over the stone walkway and mow in front of the left part of the house. Fresh ideas now are staring to enter my mind. I move down the slight descent and start on the side lawn.

This is where my property abuts my neighbor’s side of the lawn. He hasn’t mowed in some time so the grass on his three feet strip is extremely long. I maintain my border and stay in my lane, which seems silly, but that’s the unwritten rule in the suburbian jungle; you only mow the lawn on your property. I’m afraid that if I mowed his narrow strip he’d get mad at me. Or maybe he’d expect me to do it ever single time, which I don’t want to do because I dread mowing my own lawn.

Before finishing up with the road verge, the narrow strip between the sidewalk and the street (I had to look this up because I never knew what this piece of real estate was called), I look back at the property divide between my lawn and my neighbors’ and see the disparity between the lengths. It looks horrible on his side, but what’s a good, thoughtful neighbor to do? Besides, that’s his responsibility. A few years ago I’d put in a fence to separate the backyard end of our property on account he’d let his side go to hell. Oh well, I do what I can.

I wish we were more friendly but we just aren’t. They are a quiet fam and keep to themselves, and I’ve held a bit of a grudge from a few years back, anyway. He asked me if I’d be willing to share the costs of cutting down a tree that sat athwart the property line. I happily agreed. And so I had the tree taken down, and even paid for it. Never once did I hear from him again. Not even a thank you or can I pay you for having it taken down. And word is that he’s a pastor.

Oh well. Forgive and forget, the good Lord tells me.

I finish the road verge. Release the safety handle and put the mower back into the garage. Grab the weed whacker and complete the final touches. Then I stand back and admire my work product. It reminds me that it’s similar to reading the final version of my novel. A job well done.

Time to go inside and have a cold beverage. With some new ideas in my head, I’m ready to write the next chapter of my new novel.

 

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Adverbs Are for Never

Time for another Writing Tip Wednesday. I’m sure you all have missed a grammatical post.

Today, we’re going to talk about adverbs. What is an adverb?



To me, an adverb modifies the action. Technically, it can modify a verb, an adjective, or an entire clause or sentence.

We think of words ending in “LY” as adverbs, such as “she washed the dishes quickly.” There are other words, however, like “fast” as in “She drove the car fast.” There’s “often” as in “she often goes to the grocery store.” Ironically, the word “never” in the title is an adverb. The chart below provides clear examples of different types of adverbs.



A graduate writing professor I had coined the phrase, “Adverbs are for never,” as a way for us to pay attention to our overuse of them. Stephen King, in his famous memoir/writing book, On Writing, also said, “The road to hell is paved with adverbs.” Richard Osman of The Thursday Murder Club fame, in an interview, quoted Stephen King about not using adverbs.

Full confession: I do use them sparingly. Even King has admitted that he uses them himself. His advice is to avoid an overreliance on them.

The real key, and why they are discouraged, is that a writer should be able to convey in the writing, through description, a more complex and rich way to say the same thing. Creating a piece that doesn’t use adverbs to prop up weak verbs makes it a more enjoyable read, adds depth to a character, and, overall, adds vitality or specificity to the writing.

Writers who limit adverbs find that it pushes them to:
—choose stronger verbs
—use concrete actions
—improve pacing
—trust readers to infer emotions and motives

See if you agree.

With adverb:

“Get out!” she said angrily.

Without adverb:

“Get out!” She slammed her fist on the table.

Don’t you think the second sentence is stronger and better?

Here is another example.

With adverb:

He walked slowly across the room.

Without adverb:

He shuffled across the room.

One more for emphasis.

With adverb:

The dog barked frantically.

New and improved without the adverb:

The dog yelped and threw itself against the door.

OR The dog, straining at the end of its leash, barked until it was hoarse.

As this post is nearly done, I hope you will happily agree with me.



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Allison Keeton writes the Midcoast Maine Mystery series. Arctic Green, Book Two, is now available. She can be reached at http://www.akeetonbooks.com. Check out the event tab on her website to see where she’ll show up next!

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