Spring Forward, Looking Back

Whole lotta lessons lurking in the past year, not the least of which is an introvert can really miss the company of people. I’m not going to dwell on the losses, which are many and multifarious, but there have been some bright spots, too. I hope you’ve found some as well.

First—got a lot of work done. Usually, I’m good for about a novel a year. This strange year, I’ve written two, both almost done. So my capacity has stretched. Whether it will snap back like a broken bungee once  I can go out to eat, meet with friends, and generally resume a simulacrum of normal life is another story. But beware—I’m going to hug a lot of you people so hard. . .

More than the work, though, I got more time to think more deeply about what I’m doing with this fictioneering, and why. Crime writers I know will tell you they want nothing more than to tell a good story, but I’ve come to realize that we are all working in service to something bigger.

We wouldn’t expend all this energy if something else wasn’t behind the storytelling urge—a desire to create order, a passion for various kinds of justice, a desire to inform. Something more than the attempt to transfix you.

As one of our blog readers, you know Maine writers. You know we describe the unglamorous parts of Maine, the poverty and the harshness, the political and environmental issues that challenge our land and water. You know we write about the perils of policing, the human costs on both sides of that equation. We write about the immigrant experience, immigrants from other states of the Union and immigrants from other countries. We write about the comforts and constrictions of small town living.

If there was anything for me in realizing all this, it was that I have a reason for the stories I’m telling, too. Maybe a different one for every book, but I’ve given up the notion that I’m writing only entertainment. I realize that, no matter how much I try to concentrate on plot and character, my concerns and ideas will come through. May sound a little obvious for some folks, but I’ve never been the speediest pen in the East. At our premarital counselling session in 1983, the minister characterized me as someone who “plowed a slow straight furrow.”

And the other thing I learned—relearned, really, in the maelstrom of outside world in 2020—is that this is still hard. I’ll mangle the quote, but George Saunders says something to the effect that every time you write a novel, it’s like going in to fix a plumbing problem, but the tools all look different from the last time you worked and the arrangement of pipes and toilets and faucets is a different mess of problems than the last job you worked on.

I think about writing novels as building fine furniture, with the understanding that, before you get to rabbet and dado, you have to grow the tree. From a seed. Tend the ground, mill the lumber, knowing no amount of craft can straighten the grain of a stunted or twisted tree. Even then, you only work with that you have.

So that doesn’t seem like a lot to have learned from a year and change, marinating in my own mental juices, but I know how fortunate I am. I didn’t have to raise a child, teach a classroom, or support anyone other than the usual suspects. As we emerge from this mess, I hope we can keep what we’ve learned in the fore, discard the unpleasant bits of the history, and walk into the light. And I’m still going to hug all you people so hard . . . .

About Richard Cass

Dick is the author of the Elder Darrow Jazz Mystery series, the story of an alcoholic who walks into a dive bar in Boston . . . and buys it. Solo Act was a Finalist for the Maine Literary Award in Crime Fiction in 2017 and In Solo Time won the award in 2018. The third book in the series, Burton's Solo, came out in 2018 and Last Call at the Esposito in 2019. Sweetie Bogan's Sorrow publishes on October 2, 2020. Dick lives and writes in Cape Elizabeth.
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4 Responses to Spring Forward, Looking Back

  1. Anne Cass says:

    Yup.💕

  2. Very thoughtful. I particularly relate to the job we writers have to let readers know about the painful part of Maine many seldom see or think about, but which is all too real for many here in the state.

  3. Thank you for this thoughtful post.

    This year spent apart from dear friends and family, living outside of our routines, has been one of much thought for me, too. I feel sure our future books will carry echoes of that rumination. This experience has changed us, for better or worse, and our work will reflect that change.

    Hugs coming back at you soon, Dick, and Anne, too!

  4. Sandra Neily says:

    Dear Slow Straight Furrow, This was a wonderful post, really hit home with me. And I think the best mysteries for me, are ones that do dip into issues and real life rising up. Thanks for bringing that forward so clearly and personally. I believe that real world things help readers believe all the perhaps unreal things we dream up. The mix adds great power to the telling.(And this goes also to Maureen’s great tips post today.) I do think that when an issue rises up, it must cloak itself in dialogue, character, plot, setting. Readers don’t want to all of sudden hear us (the authors or the “building” apparatus).
    That’s been tough for me sometimes. But when editing, I turn on my “you’re preaching or teaching” ear and cut, cut, cut. This was a great post. Thanks.

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