One of the many great things about writing books is that it gives me a professional excuse to read.  Reading is much easier than writing, and I’ve always considered an hour lost in a book as one of life’s great luxuries.

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.

You may have already read a review of The Murderer’s Daughters, by author and (full disclosure) friend Randy Susan Meyers.  I’m quite surprised to find myself recommending it.  To be honest, for the first month I knew this book existed, I dreaded having to read it.

Randy is the leader by default of our writer’s promotion group, a collection of authors who are just published, about to be published, or about to be sold to a publisher.  We get together once a month to discuss best practices for book promotion.  Yes that sounds boring, but thanks to our wide-ranging and frequently humorous conversations it’s anything but. (One night we even got around to something really important: What to Wear to Your Book Signing.)  I’ve nicknamed our group the “Literary Guerillas,” based largely on the undercover moves of our “Camouflage Mama;” she singlehandedly got Randy’s book moved from the Back Shelves to the Big Table Up Front in her local store.

I first met Randy when she was counting down to her publishing date.  Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’re probably aware that the book industry is one collective eye roll these days.  It’s all too easy for even an optimist like me to get depressed about the whole business.

Randy’s approach provided a refreshing contrast to all the usual gloom and doom, an old-fashioned success story built on hard work, excellent networking, and reaching out to help others.  Best of all, once I got to know her I realized that it’s not all about Randy; a matching amount from each book sold at her launch party went to the Home for Little Wanderers’ Harrington House—an organization working to provide homes for kids.

I admired her enthusiasm, professionalism, and social conscience.  I lapped up her bottomless knowledge about all things publishing.  I drooled over the lovely artwork on her book’s cover, especially the extra ferris wheel hiding at the bottom of the spine.  And I dreaded cracking open this beautiful cover and starting to read.

Why?  Because I figured any book with the word “murderer” in the title would be dark, depressing, violent—all things I try to avoid in fiction and real life.  And if I didn’t like it, how was I going to be an effective Literary Guerilla and promote it as promised?

Fortunately, my dread was totally misplaced.  Yes, a murder takes place in the very first chapter, inside the home of the two sisters who tell the story from their vastly different perspectives.  I had no trouble picturing the bloody scene, but I never had to skip past anything too gruesome.  After twenty years of working with domestic violence victims, Randy chose to show just enough so the real story (how two sisters deal with tragedy) makes sense.

I started The Murderer’s Daughters a few days before leaving on a weeklong vacation.  I didn’t plan to take it with me, since it’s bulkier than a paperback and too beautiful to jam into a suitcase.  But by the time I packed, I’d already read eight chapters and was completely hooked -  so into the carryon it went. I’m so glad I had the chance to savor the surprisingly hopeful ending at a leisurely pace.

And what really makes this book worth recommending are its deceptively simple descriptions.  Here’s Lulu talking about her younger sister:

“Merry was unusually cute, and I was unusually plain. People stopped us every day, bending down to gush over Merry’s black curls or her Tootsie Pop eyes—the chocolate ones—or to stroke her rosy cheek as though her skin were a fabric they couldn’t resist fingering.  I felt as though I toted around the Princess of Brooklyn.”

I’d offer to loan out my copy, but I’m still savoring its presence.  Fortunately, it’s probably available at your local bookstore.  It’s definitely available on Amazon.

So thank you, Randy, for this rare gift; a view into an unknown world that leaves me grateful for my own happy upbringing but even more grateful for the chance to share the lives of Merry and Lulu.  Maybe if you’re very, very nice to me, I’ll tell you which character is my favorite.

I’ve recently taken on two new office assistants. Ben is the white collar guy, while Jerry’s partial to stripes. They live with our neighbors, but they like to help me out during the day.

As you can see, the two working together provide great inspiration: Go Take A Nap. And when the words aren’t cooperating, I hardly need any more encouragement in that direction.

When the writing flows easily, effortlessly, I don’t even remember they are sleeping right beside my desk – until one stretches, yawns, and pushes harder against his brother.  I’m off in another world, turning storms into sunshine and sailing schooners on the high seas.  It would take more than a sleeping cat or two to distract me, cute as they are… when the writing flows easily.

Which brings me (finally) to my title question. I recently finished a rough draft of the sequel to Oliver’s Surprise, though “finished” seems like a very inappropriate word.  As only my fellow fiction writers will appreciate, now the hardest work begins. Because the story isn’t a story yet, even though it has (almost, mostly) completed its first major transition: from imagination to words.

Say you want to create a sculpture of two sleeping cats.  Starting with a large block of stone, you chip away until paws and ears and tails appear.  As you work, you try to bring out the softness of the fur and the fine texture of the whiskers, distinguishing to the best of your sculpting ability between orange stripes and an all-white belly.  The subtleties are an enormous challenge when working in stone, which is neither soft, nor fine in texture, nor color-sensitive.  But those same subtleties are what will bring your sculpture to life.

To create a story, writers must first build that initial block.  Instead of stone, we heap words on top of each other, lots of words – until we have a squared-off approximation of a beginning, middle, and end.  Only then can we start chipping away, using the writerly equivalent of a set of sharp chisels to sculpt out the story.

Hence the term, “rough draft.”

The only way for me to find the story hiding in the rough is to cuddle up with my unfinished sculpture, picking away at a word here, or there… until, aha!  A whisker appears.

It’s slow work, and there’s little to show for my efforts; while writing the rough draft, at least I was increasing my word count. Now, in this editorial chiseling phase, I usually end up with fewer words at the end of the day.

And yet it’s immensely satisfying, because this phase brings the story to life.  Look!  I think I see an ear.  White-tipped, with tufts of orange fur inside…

It’s so easy to think a story is finished when it first begins to take shape, but there’s still a lot more work ahead.

The best stories, the ones we remember, are constructed from a careful set of details that can only be laced together (in the right order, using the right words) once the writer figures out the big picture.

A chicken and egg question: is the story built from the details, or do details emerge from the story?  It might be different for other writers; for me I do best when I focus on the little pieces, trusting that an overall shape and texture will eventually appear.

Fortunately, we writers (unlike our friend the sculptor) can move sections around or even tack on a whole new piece when we realize something’s missing.  Perhaps we think we’re writing a story about one cat, and as we chip away we realize there’s another one lurking in the shadows.  A few carefully chosen words, et voila!  Double the felines, double the fun.

And, look, over there; hiding behind all those soon to be chipped-away adverbs – could that be a curled-up tail I see?

George and I finished third at the 2009 Snipe Nationals.

Last Friday my two worlds-sailing and books-met here in San Diego.

My friend and teammate for this week’s Snipe Worlds, George Szabo, was honored by San Diego Yacht Club with a party to celebrate his recent win of the Star World Championship.  The same night, I kicked off the second edition of “Oliver’s Surprise” with a book signing at Bay Books in nearby Coronado.

The Star, a 26 foot keelboat, has been in the Olympics longer than any other class, and winning the world championship is considered one (if not THE) pinnacle of sailing achievement.   I recognize many of the names on the enormous silver urn currently displayed in the front lobby of SDYC, and most of the previous World champions who live in the area attended the party.  A great celebration of a fantastic achievement, on the eve of another big regatta that George and I are sailing together – the Snipe World championship.

The Snipe has never been an Olympic class but is still well-respected around the world for Serious Sailing, Serious Fun. The boat characteristics (two people, hard chines, heavy displacement and bendy rig) are similar to the Star, though the loads and sizes are much, much smaller.  And so are the crews.  We are feeling a bit large at a combined weight of 310 lbs, especially for the light winds expected here in San Diego.  It’s our first Worlds together, though we have both sailed the event before with others.  We’ll certainly give it our all.

The booksigning was a first in a very different way:  the first signing where I knew less than half the people.  Somehow that made me feel like a real author!  Bay Books did a great job promoting the event and Coronado’s downtown was busy with walking traffic, helping the draw.  I sold all the books I brought and was happy to see publicist Paula Margulies at the event.

Books and boats… and a book about boats… no surprise there, I guess.