Hey, all. Gerry Boyle here, on a sultry July evening in Maine. Thunderstorms headed our way. Lightning on the horizon. Life is good.

I’m here to tell you about the perks we get as writers, because I recently cashed in. Big time. And it’s not what you think.

I’ve had my brusehs  with fame and fortune in the last 20 years (in small ways), and I’m not talking about that. No movie deal talk here. No Manhattan restaurants filled with celebrities—and me. Been there. Done that. But a couple of weeks ago I had a day that was about as good as it gets in the writing trade, aside from the writing itself.

I was invited to meet with the folks at the library on Swan’s Island, on the Maine coast, six miles out of Bass Harbor off the southern tip of Mt. Desert Island. We’d tried to make this happen last summer but schedules didn’t jibe. This year my host, Maili Bailey, and I connected early and the date was set. July 12, rain or shine. If the ferry was running out of Bass Harbor, I’d be there.

Turns out it was a gorgeous day. Eighties and sunny, a gentle breeze. Gentle wells lifting the ferry. The islands veiled in the most subtle haze. I was on the 11 a.m. boat with my daughter Emily Westbrooks (a freelance writer herself) and her husband Micheal Westbrooks, visiting from their home in Ireland. We sat back on the bow of the Captain Henry Lee and said, “Is this a perfect Maine day or what?”

Was it ever.

An idyllic cruise across the bay. Maili and her artist husband Iver waiting at the dock. Sandwiches waiting at the library: egg salad, tuna, turkey, with pickles individually wrapped. Lemonade from a jug. We moved the table to the center of the big room, as the kid’s hour was wrapping up (they were reading in a tent). As we ate, the library patrons came in.

Twenty of them, maybe a few more. A nice chat, with people—some Mainers, some from away—going back and forth about realism in mystery novels, whether my books are the real Portland, why I write these sorts of books, why they read them.

For a time I was a bystander to a very interesting discussion, could have gone for a walk and come back and they’d still be talking. But I just leaned back and ate my egg salad on wheat, wiped the mayo off my cheek. Answered questions when they came my way. After an hour or more  the event wound down and we all helped pick up. Then Maili and Iver took us on a three-hour tour of Swan’s. I loved the swimming area at the quarry, complete with lifeguard. From the top of the quarry rim there’s a great view to the west, across Jericho Bay to Isle Au Haut.

Paradise.

So this was one of those crystallizing moments, the ones that remind you of one of the reasons why you do this. For the money? Nah. Seeing your name in the paper or your mug on TV? Nah. You do this for a day on a beautiful island off the coast of Maine with a group of very interesting  people. Talking books. Talking mysteries. Talking character and dialogue and setting, and then just trading stories.

That, my friends, is priceless.