Now that I’ve stroked not just one but two of my own books, I understand there is more to being a “real” author than just writing a good story.  In order to give our creations the best possible chance at success, we also have to market and sell our work.  And apparently that concerns my subconscious, since last night it added a new anxiety dream to my repertoire.

Almost six years after the Olympics, I still have a recurring nightmare.  I’m at some distant regatta packing for a flight home that leaves in an hour, and not everything will fit into my luggage.  As I stuff and repack and turn to find yet another pile of clothes on the floor behind me, I know I’m Going To Miss My Flight.  Of course, my teammates are ready and waiting for me… and I HATE to be waited for.

It’s always a relief when I wake up.

Last night, I had a completely new anxiety dream. I’m having a glass of wine with a woman I barely know (and after last night, I’m not interested in getting to know her any better).  We suddenly realize I am ten minutes late for my booksigning that started at 5pm, the reason I’d come to town in the first place.  So we hop in her car and race off.  Since she’s the local, I figure she knows where she’s going… until we end up on the wrong side of town.

“Oh, it’s at that OTHER bookstore!” she says, and we speed off again.

One way streets.  Cars and pedestrians blocking the road.  Everything conspires against our getting where we need to go, even though it’s “just a few blocks away.”

By the time we finally arrive at the (other) bookstore, it’s 8:30pm.  Worst of all, I don’t even have a decent excuse. (“We were having a glass of wine and lost track of time” certainly doesn’t sound very professional.) I stroll into the empty store, determined to make the best of a very bad and quite self-induced situation.

“Sorry I’m so late,” I say.  “How many books did we sell?”

“Fifteen and a half,” the owner replies.

(Why my subconscious thinks you can sell half a book, I’ll never know.)

It gets worse.  The bookstore owner leads me to the back of the store where the last buyer is waiting patiently—and remember, I HATE to be waited for.  It’s a boy who can’t read, and he asks me to chisel my signature in the book cover, as if it were a piece of wood.

I want to reward the kid for being so patient, so I struggle with the completely inappropriate tool and hope I don’t cut myself.

Then I wake up.

Now I’m sure a psychiatrist would have a different interpretation, but to me this dream screams “real author.”  I’m no longer sleep-worrying about catching planes home from regattas, like an Olympic sailor; instead I’m worrying about book signings—forgetting to go to one, and dealing with an awkward situation when I finally remember.  I’m surprised my subconscious didn’t work in an aspiring writer who holds up the line to complain about how hard it is to get published.

My old anxiety dream had nothing to do with sailing, and this new dream has nothing to do with writing.  Maybe that’s because the writing is the easy part of being an author?

Anyway, I’m going to take this nightmare as a positive sign. I’m also going to take a nap this afternoon… and probably skip the glass of wine before tonight’s signing.

On Thursday, July 1 2010 we launched Cape Cod Surprise. The weather was perfect; sunny but not too hot, and not a speck of humidity (by Boston standards at least).  The Sail Loft generously provided their delicious chowder and appetizers.  And so many writers and sailors bought books and helped us celebrate, I lost count. Thanks to everyone who came to launch CCS into the world, especially to USSailing President (and blurb writer) Gary Jobson.  He has probably figured out by now that Boston is NOT on the way from Newport to New Jersey.

Of all the decisions we made while planning the event, the best one by far was to make it a benefit for Piers Park Sailing Center.  MC Maureen McKinnon-Tucker made everyone feel welcome, even when I was occupied signing books.  The blue-shirted staff created a very friendly atmosphere (especially while hawking raffle tickets to people who’d just stumbled into the Sail Loft for a drink or two). And volunteer Steve Jewett played raffle host, inspiring the purchase of more tickets with his listing of the great prizes available. Lots of nice folks won some great stuff and went home happy. And even those that didn’t win supported a great cause.

When I first thought of combining the launch party with a fundraiser for Piers Park, I didn’t realize how much we had in common.  Now everyone will know, thanks to the video short “Where Books Meet Olympic Spirit: Learning Life Skills through Sailing.” Produced by Paul Cronin of WhiteCap Video, the five minute piece talks about the common goal shared by PPSC and my books. Thanks to Paul for creating a legacy piece, and thanks to Maureen for her patience with the extra takes.  It shines through that we had fun putting it together, and I look forward to more joint projects in the future.

The day after the party passed in a glow of nice emails and tweets from those who had been there and others who’d heard secondhand about the successful event.  The best compliment I received was via fellow author Nicole Bernier. Thursday had been a very special day for Nicole too; her book sold to Random House.  But she still found time amidst her own celebrations to send the following:

“What a stellar night. You were beaming. My kids were fighting over their copy of the book, and I had to break out one of the others I bought for friends.”

Thanks to everyone, and if you didn’t catch it Thursday night, check out the video to relive some of the great inspiration.

Ready for the splash?

On Thursday, July 1, 2010, with your help, we’ll launch my newest book, Cape Cod Surprise, at the Sail Loft in Boston’s North End. The invites have been sent out, the raffle prizes are coming together, the books are waiting to be signed… and the early summer weather has us all ready for another adventure with Oliver.

Best of all, proceeds from all books sold at the event will go to support Piers Park Sailing Center, a community organization in East Boston that provides the transformative experience of sailing to more than 1000 youth each year. I’ll be working with the kids at PPSC during the day on Thursday, reinforcing a shared goal: to teach life skills through sailing. I plan to approach that philosophy from a slightly different angle – by encouraging kids to go sailing inside their heads.  We’ll see how that goes; with the harbor beckoning, they may be as anxious as I am to go sailing with their bodies instead.

Thanks to all of you who have shared with me the process of bringing this project to press… writing and editing through the fall and winter, revising and finalizing a cover in the spring… until that delicious moment a few days ago, when I held the first book in my hand.

Gary Jobson once said that there’s nothing like seeing your own book in print for the first time, and I know that won’t change whether it’s book #2 or book #20.  We’re hoping to see Gary Thursday night; if so, compliment him on his blurb.

Thursday night will be a great chance to introduce my sailing world to my writing world, since both will be well represented.  Literary Guerillas, meet Frostbiters and Snipe sailors!  If you are struggling for a common language, remember you have one verb in common (“To Launch”). And you’ll all enjoy the video, as well as Sail Loft chowder, appetizers, and beverages.

Special offer:  If you can’t make the party but still want your signed copy of Cape Cod Surprise to support PPSC, post a comment below or email me directly:  carolncronin AT gmail DOT com.

Thanks to Oliver for bringing us all together, and see you Thursday night.

Launch party details

Directions/Map

PPSC in East Boston gives over 1000 local kids the chance to go sailing every summer.  They also offer adaptive sailing programs for people living with disabilities, including a remarkable technology that enables motion-restricted sailors to control the boat’s direction with a “sip” or “puff” of breath. PPSC teaches life skills through sailing… just as Oliver and the other characters in my books learn about teamwork and self-reliance while grappling with their fictional adventures.

On July 1 I’ll spend the day at PPSC, sharing my enthusiasm for reading, writing, and sailing.  Hopefully the kids will help me create a few new stories.

That evening, the official launching of Cape Cod Surprise will include book signings, a teaser from the new story, introductions to a gold medalist, prize drawings for books and sailing delights, harbor views, and food and beverage.  We may also show a few videos courtesy of WhiteCap Video.  And both sailing and writing friends will have a chance to learn the ‘other’ meaning of the verb “to launch.”

Please put this “Surprise” party on your calendar. I look forward to celebrating with you all!

To read an excerpt, or RSVP, visit my author website.

I know, I know, I wrote a few weeks ago I was finished with the new book.  But “finished” has different stages.  And though the authorly part was complete, the graphic design work (cover and interior) weren’t quite ready to go to press.

It’s quite unusual for an author to design her own cover, but most authors don’t have graphic design experience.  Being able to use all of my talents to create a beautiful book (as well as a good story) is one of the great things about working with publisher GemmaMedia.  Gemma actually found the original map that we used as a background, so it’s been a team effort right from the start.  We sent final files in this morning, including a Library of Congress number; now that makes me feel like a real author.

Many of you have asked about the publishing date, which is July 4.  Stay tuned for updates on a launch party around that time too.  And of course I’m starting to plan book signings, so let me know if your local bookstore or book club would like me to come visit.

And speaking of launch parties, we put our Herreshoff Marlin in the water this morning.  So the season of summer evening sails has officially begun.

I’ve also tried to justify it as a sleep-aid, but that must be averaged out with the many nights a good story has kept me up past my usual bedtime.  So it was last week with “The Sea and the Silence,” Peter Cunningham’s just-published novel about the life of an Irish woman who comes of age during the 1940’s.

I was initially drawn to the book by the lovely cover.  Sparse and lovely, not overdone or flashy like most covers these days.  And who can resist a woman eyeing a lighthouse in the distance?

The next attraction was the word “sea” in the title. Now I’ve been suckered before into buying books by some casual reference to ocean and coast, only to be disappointed by a complete lack of watery atmosphere inside.  In “The Sea and the Silence,” those two elements form a misty ever-present background, achieving importance by remaining mostly out of reach.

I’m also a sucker for historical novels, but I’ve learned that fictionalized history alone is not enough to keep me reading; the story must stand on its own. Cunningham’s lean prose drew me into Iz’s world and showed me a newly independent Ireland.  My ignorance of Irish politics made it possible to take the story as it came, with no preconceived historical notions.  And Iz provided plenty of perspective anyway, since these pages were written on her deathbed.

I won’t spoil the plot for you; this one has to be digested page by page to be completely appreciated. But I will tell you that the seemingly casual structure (a solicitor reading pages left behind after death) brings a new depth to the story.  Without seeming to interfere at all, Cunningham allows us to see only what is necessary to move the story forward.  We get tempting glimpses of the surprising conclusion that tease but never quite satisfy.

I often find endings disappointing, for several reasons.  First and foremost, I seldom want to let go of a character after sharing such intimacies for 250 pages.  Beyond that, a satisfying conclusion that is neither trite nor predictable requires great skill and a gentle touch.  Cunningham has created a ending that felt very natural and satisfied my curiosity, without tying up all the ends too neatly.

The author lives in a coastal Irish town on which the fictional town of Monument is based.  He even (yes!) provides a map that, rather surprisingly, does not reference the lighthouse where much of the book takes place. But if I weren’t in the process of deciding what to include in the frontmatter of my own book, I wouldn’t have even noticed that omission. Through the ears of Iz, I have already heard the pulse of waves beating against a shore that will be so very hard for her to leave.

Obviously I would recommend this book to anyone interested in 20th century Ireland and anyone who loves the coast. I would further encourage those who appreciate the details and structure that together build a satisfying novel to dive into the world of Iz.  She and her creator, Peter Cunningham, will not disappoint.

One word combination always sticks with me from that lovely poem:  puddle-wonderful.  What a great reminder of the beauty of spring, and the fresh-footed enjoyment of childhood.  As I force myself to stay at my desk on this lovely end-of-April Friday, those two words bring back all the joys of icy cold bare feet, jumping for maximum splash into the nearest biggest puddle. I’m  hoping this afternoon to sneak out and dig in the garden, the adult version of puddle-jumping.  Don’t tell my clients, okay?

The jacket flap told me that “The Swimming Pool” was the story of a young man named Jed and an older woman named Marcella, brought together by their mutual grief for Jed’s father—and a long-kept family secret.  With my pre-conceived notions (beach read, familiar setting) unchallenged, I opened to the first page, planning to indulge in the slightly guilty pleasure of what I thought would be a light, throwaway story.  Instead I was drawn in by the carefully crafted sentences and lyrical language. After racing through the first chapter, I forced myself to put the book down for a moment, just to breathe. If this was a beach read, I thought, it was gonna be a great summer.

As I devoured the book, I tried to pace myself in order to truly appreciate the careful word choices and variety of sentence structure. I lapped up the apt alliteration of adults gathered around the swimming pool at a neighborhood cocktail party: “…dry and dressed and drinking.”  And I luxuriated in each fresh view of that pivotal pool party.  Replaying the same scene would be repetitive in less skilled hands, but LeCraw adds a new twist every time that propels the story toward its dramatic conclusion.

It wasn’t until I finished the book that I could stand back far enough to marvel at its construction. LeCraw weaves all the personalities into one seamless strand of a story without restricting herself to a conventional time line or a single point of view. She also avoids cliché, which is what really separates this book from the “beach read” I was expecting.  Instead of bedding the bikinied babysitter, Jed turns to Marcella for the only affair that takes place on the actual page.  Apparently this twist was even a shock to its author.  But instead of reining in her characters, LeCraw adjusted the story… and the result is a rich and utterly unique novel.

In spite of its geography, “The Swimming Pool” doesn’t take place in a world familiar to me.  For one thing, there’s not a speck of sailing. The ocean is either swum in, gazed upon, or flat out taken for granted as a background of blue.  When competitive spirits need soothing, these characters turn to the sweat-stained clay of the local tennis courts.  And there’s that unsolved murder shimmering on the horizon.  This is definitely not my Cape Cod.

My one complaint about the story is the direct result of LeCraw’s refusal to stoop to cliché; the murder is “solved” off the page in a rather undramatic but completely logical way.  No neatly packaged endings here; instead we are left hungry for more of these complex characters that would’ve burst the bindings of that beach read I was expecting.  This may not be my Cape Cod—but that’s a very good thing.

Last Friday, I submitted a file (only ten minutes late) that represented almost a year of hard work.  Cape Cod Surprise, complete with layout and cover art, has been sent off to meet the sharp eyes of my publisher and editor at GemmaMedia. [Insert appropriate “cheer” word here, along with much overdone punctuation.]

Writing a sequel requires all the same effort as the original book.  1. Dream up enough story line to start writing.  2. Figure out what the REAL story line is. 3. Edit. 4. Re-edit, to make all the little pieces fit the big picture.  5. Ask “is it as good as it can be” over and over, until the answer is “yes.”

In addition, the sequel required a little extra effort.  Because this time, I knew I was writing for publication—not just to brighten the eyes of my nephew at Christmas.  This time, I was on a deadline.  And it had to be even better than “good as it can be.” Better than the first book.   I believe it is… longer, richer—yes, better.  I can only hope my authorly bias is not blinding me to the faults of my latest creation.  I can only hope you the readers will love it too.

I also checked off an important sailing goal last week.  Kim Couranz and I won the Snipe Women’s Nationals in Jacksonville, FL.  This is the fifth time we’ve won this event (though only our third as a team), so that victory alone isn’t necessarily a goal as worthy of shout-out as shipping off a manuscript.  It’s where that regatta victory will lead us that counts: we’re now qualified for the Snipe Western Hemisphere and Orient Championship in September, an international regatta that draws together the best sailors in the class.  (And for those who keep score by gender, we are likely to be one of the few women’s teams at the event.)

I’ve written before about the three hats a writer must wear as she works through a project.  I’ve also written about the many definitions of success in this brave new world of publishing.  For all these reasons and many more, I made sure to celebrate last week’s writing milestone. There are so few finish line tapes across the road to publishing that when we hit one, it’s critical to raise a glass and breathe in the heady air of “I did it!”  Because all too soon my manuscript will be back for edits, like a teenager who returns from college with fresh opinions based on his contact with others.

Kim and I should’ve celebrated our regatta win with a raised glass too.  Instead we jumped in the van to drive the 13 hours back to Annapolis Sunday night, so she could show up for work the next day.

And it didn’t feel so important to consciously celebrate a finite victory like winning a regatta. It’s so much more obvious that we achieved our goal when there is a printed scoreline of firsts (what we sailors call “bullets”).

Authors have no such scoreline; instead we single out the good reviews and positive feedback, building a moat around our egos to protect against the less pleasant comments.  There are always more books that could be sold, more readers that could be touched, more Amazon reviews that could be written.

Besides, Kim and I will be celebrating all summer, as we push to improve our skills toward meeting our new goal (a respectable finish at the Westerns). Because that’s what self-motivated people do: as soon as we achieve one goal, we look for the next.

But for a few days, while my new book is out of my hands being edited by someone else, I will savor last week’s writing victory.  Because whether or not this sequel is actually as good as I think it is, I’ve now answered once and for all one of my great internal doubts:

Can she do it again?

Yes, she can!

And that’s a victory worth celebrating.

(Just to clarify:  that’s soggy terrarium feet trapped inside wet socks, shoes, or boots.  Not happy bare wiggly toes dipping into a pool or dangling off the edge of a dock.)

I first discovered this aversion to damp tootsies when I worked in boat yards. Rainy days boiled down to one elusive goal; how long can I keep my feet dry?  Deep puddles, bad drainage, and canvas shoes that soaked up any damp air and held it against me (so to speak)… by morning coffee break I could already feel the dreaded wet soaking through.  My sunny demeanor would dissolve into a growl, especially if I’d forgotten (again) to bring a pair of extra socks to work.

Frostbiting became another wet-foot-avoidance exercise.  On winter Sundays, while most sensible New Englanders are sitting inside by a roaring fire, many of my friends race sailboats.  (Small sailboats, since the big smart ones are all hibernating under cover.)  I used to be an eager participant – and as long as my feet were dry, I had a great attitude. Numb fingers, salt spray in my face – all fine. But if just one drop of water wormed its way inside my boots, goretex socks, and two layers of wool, finally seeping through my thin sock liners … well all I can say is, nobody get between me and the Jamaican coffee.

Damp toes even affected my Olympic training.  Most of the big European events are held “ahead of the season,” in order to keep costs down; before the real tourists arrive, hotels and restaurants appreciate any business, even what they get from sailors (who are notoriously bad tippers).  But there’s a reason “the season” doesn’t start any earlier; the water is still cold, and rain is usually part of an average forecast. Unlike tennis or baseball, sailing does not do rain delay.  By the end of the day, even the best foulweather gear would soak through, allowing said rain to drip down into my boots.  Result?  Wet feet and an attitude problem.

Now that I work inside every day, rainy days are almost a cause for celebration. (“Great Office Days,” my ever-positive husband calls them.)  Even my most despised chore – bookkeeping – is almost a cozy pleasure when raindrops chase each other down the outside of the window. I curl my dry warm toes inside my fleece-lined clogs and savor the warmth within.

This week, I’ve been especially grateful for the luxury of dry feet. With two major back to back storms in the past ten days and over eight inches of rain in the past thirty-six hours, Rhode Island is setting new records for flooding and rain. Many friends and neighbors would happily put up with all those damp socks that used to cause me such annoyance, in exchange for better drainage in their basements, offices, and yards.  Bring on the sun, or someone build an ark!