Believe in Spring?

It's after 10 p.m. and I'm winding down from a lovely Sunday here in Southern Maine.  Take a look:

I have work to do yet tonight so I'm going to make this post a quick list of the weekend's joys.

We spent time with all of the members of my clan minus one yesterday at a St. Patrick's Day party.  My mother was in her glory, surrounded by her kids, grandkids and great-grands. The Alzheimers hasn't robbed her of her joie de vivre, especially when children are in the room and Irish music is playing in the background.

I enjoyed a productive meeting with a writer friend this morning, dissecting our works in progress.  It's been a long winter of revision for me. In recent weeks I've felt myself approaching a turning point. Today's meeting was affirming in that regard.  But then, I've begun to believe winter is done, so I may simply be in a dangerously optimistic frame of mind.

It was impossible not to revel in the fine weather, even though a voice inside my head nags that it shouldn't be 78 degrees in Maine in mid-March. That was the temp when I left Auburn about 1:30, so I popped the sunroof open and sang along with Van Morrison all the way home.

It was cooler when I got back to the coast, but still May-like on our beach walk.

Signs of spring were everywhere. The sand no longer being like half-set cement, a youthful engineer built a fine sandcastle.

Teenaged girls strolled the beach in shorts and flip flops while their shirtless male peers played frisbee.

Some folks brought beach chairs and basked in the warmth. (The owners of this pair were beachcombing when I snapped the photo.)

A redwinged blackbird trilled its heart out as we skirted a marsh on our way back to the car. 

At dusk, a chorus of peepers serenaded me while I stood on the deck, grilling for the second Sunday in a row.

Springing Forward

It was an amazing day here in Southern Maine, warm, sunny and light for a looooong time.  A lot of people I know (including my beloved) grumble about the arrival of Daylight Savings Time. To them, springing forward means an hour of lost sleep, and dark mornings again. To me, the long afternoon light is worth the trade-off. 

I celebrated by grilling chicken that had been marinating all afternoon in a lemon-garlic sauce officially called "Garlicious" which I call "Garlic-Licious," because it makes my sweetie laugh every time. It was lovely to stand out on the deck, imagining the trees leafed out, the garden planted, the warm-weather birds flocking to the feeders for a bedtime snack.

Soon.

We walked at Crescent Beach in early afternoon.  Here is a photo of the sign that greets the winter-weary masses:

And the dunes, which were especially beautiful today:

A pivotal scene in my novel in progress, The Quick Pivot, is set at Crescent Beach. Every time we walk there I feel surrounded by the ghosts of a couple of my favorite characters, who spent a life-changing afternoon there in May, 1968.

Speaking of my WIP, I had an opportunity to read a couple of short passages yesterday at the New England Sisters In Crime open read event, organized by my pal Maureen Milliken in her beautiful town of Belgrade Lakes. Five of us brought work to read and several others came just to listen, including a high school student from nearby Oakland who told us she loves, loves, loves to read mysteries.  That proclamation, and her courage in attending an event where she knew no one except her very supportive Dad, endeared her to everyone in the room.

Thank you, Maureen, for organizing such an enjoyable event and for reading your work.  Thanks also go to Kathy, Priscilla and Emily for reading, and to Sandy and David and Mary's dad for listening.  And special appreciation to  Mary, for making us remember how exciting it was to discover this world of mystery.

Staying With It

February passed without many Sunday beach walks. We were out of town all or part of many weekends, which disrupted our rituals a bit.  Today was a good day to get back in the groove.  Sunny and warmish, the breeze was light when we arrived at Scarborough Beach.  Here's a photo:

Two young guys carrying surfboards were on our heels as we trekked from road to beach, wearing hooded drysuits complete with booties, essential gear for winter surfing in the North Atlantic. Somewhere between boyish 20 and settling down 30, they grinned at us as they scooted toward the respectable surf, still agitated by last week's storms.

When we made the turn after walking south almost to the end of the beach, the surfer dudes were dark specks in the waves. As we strolled back they came into focus: timing the waves, clambering to their feet, riding the crest, falling into the frigid salt water.

Because I'm (1) deep in revision and (2) especially single-minded when I'm deep in revision, I found myself comparing my passion to theirs. 

No, winter surfing (hell, summer surfing) is not my thing. But like them, I'm absorbed by something I love. They walk into the icy ocean, climb on their boards and paddle with heart and determination past the break, all to be one with the surf for fifteen seconds (if they're lucky).  Then they do it again.

I sit in front of my laptop for at least two hours a day, wrestling with plot points and uruly sentences, all for the fleeting reward of a well-written paragraph, page, chapter.

Here's my takeaway.  If it matters to you, then it matters to work at it.

Frozen Beach Photo

Here's that shot of the frozen dune from Sunday's walk.  I'm cold to the bone again just looking at it.

Frozen Beach

We walked on Sunday at Ferry Beach in Saco, when the temp was about 12 and the wind was blowing at about 25 so it was big-time bundle-up time.  We took a nice photo of dunes glistening under a coat of snow frosted by freezing rain, but my computer is balking at inserting it.  I will try again later.

So winter has Maine in its grip, finally.  I comfort myself that we are halfway through January, that the light is already coming back, that in three short months it will be April.  Burrowing in to my house, my office, my flannel-sheeted bed, I'm in active hibernation. 

At home I'm cooking a lot, writing a lot, reading a lot.  There are no outdoor chores save filling the birdfeeders, shoveling, and spreading ice melt in the driveway, which I did this morning with YakTrax on my shoes to save me a trip to the ER. The compost bin lid kept freezing on, so we've called a composting hiatus until the weather warms up.  With that in mind, we keep seed catalogs in most every room, dreaming of our hands in the soil, planting, mulching, watering. 

It's always amazing to watch winter's grip loosen and I'm imagining it already.  Though winter was late to settle in, I'm feeling greedy, hoping for an early release.

Anticipated 2012 Reads

A sweet day today on the coast of Maine, not  warm as yesterday, but lovely nonetheless.  We walked at Crescent Beach, where the water was calm and the breeze was light.  Here's a photo from the bluff at the southwest end, looking toward Richmond Island.

This particular beach is the setting for one of my favorite scenes in my work in progress, The Quick Pivot. It came together more easily than any other scene, and has needed the least revision.

My work this weekend on the QP has gone well.  I'm about done with the personality transplant on that key female character and at least to my (admittedly biased) eyes, it's working.  My pal and beta reader Maureen will be giving it a look next week.  We'll see what she says.

On Monday I said I'd write about the books I'm eager to read in 2012.  Here are five that make me long for an unencumbered day to curl up under a blanket on the couch and read without interruption:

1. The Most Dangerous Thing by Laura Lippman.  I'm knee deep in this one now.  I've enjoyed a number of Lippman books in recent years, especially those featuring kick-ass investigative reporter-turned-PI Tess Monaghan. This is her most recent standalone.  A hundred pages in, I'm captivated by her characters and her plotting prowess. 

2.  11/22/63 by Stephen King.  I'd need two unencumbered days to read this start to finish.  And a pot of soup on the stove, so I wouldn't even have to stop and cook.  Peanut butter and jam sandwiches would work, too.  I know from the reviews this one will be difficult to put down.

3.  Trick of the Dark by Val McDermid.  I was slow to find this wonderful writer, can't wait to read this mystery, set in Oxford, England, about solving the murder of a groom just after he took his marriage vows.

4. Started Early, Took My Dog by Kate Atkinson.  Also set in England, and featuring a male protagonist written by a woman (like the QP).  I know the story involves saving a child and a dog.  Should be great.

5.  Clawback by Mike Cooper.  This won't be released until March, and I'm counting the days.  Mike, who I've chatted with a couple of times at the New England Crime Bake, has written a tale of an assassin taking aim at Wall Street financial guys who are underperforming, and the push back from the powers that be.  It sounds like a fascinating read.

Time to move on to other Sunday night activities.  Enjoy the start of your week.

Taking my time

No photo tonight, just some before-bed thoughts about writing and rewriting. 

I finished the first draft of my current Work in Progress - The Quick Pivot - in August.  I let it sit a while, like bread to rise, then gave it a full read to make sure the plot hung together.  When I've got my fingers in it every day, it's easy to lose track of details. 

Sure enough, I found one medium-sized hole in the story. I mended it, then put the manuscript into the hands of a few trusted readers who pull no punches.  A few weeks later I was sorting through much useful feedback.  I incorporated the easy stuff first and worked my way up to the delicate revisions that require the most time.  By November I thought I was done, but more feedback sent me back to the keyboard, refining, polishing, trimming some more. 

About a month ago I synthesized the comments of everyone who has read the whole thing and realized I'd been sticking my fingers in my ears and chanting LA-LA-LA so I couldn't hear one particular piece of criticism that most every reader had offered.  One supporting character - important because she allows the reader a particular perspective on the protagonist - was all wrong. 

My protagonist wouldn't have someone like her in his life.  She was boring and self-indulgent, which adds up to annoying.  I don't know why I resisted for so long hearing my beta readers' objections, but I'm glad I finally stopped LA-LA-LAing long enough for their wisdom to sink in.

My current task is to give this character a total personality transplant, to make her honest and real, flawed and interesting, all of which will add depth to my protagonist as well.  It's slow going, but I'm plugging away, muttering to myself about the tortoise and the hare.