It’s not often that my book life and my sailing life overlap, but it happened last week.

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.

“

Kim Couranz, Margaret Podlich, Carol Cronin, and Kate Fears share yet another laugh at the J/22 Midwinters in Tampa, FL.

“Let’s do some more sailing together,” I said to Margaret last November, over dinner preparations at her house.  “You, me, Kate, and Kim.  Wouldn’t that be great?”

“Definitely!” she responded with her usual enthusiasm. “How about Rolex?”

The perfect event for us – I was only disappointed I hadn’t thought of it first.

For women sailors (especially those of a “certain” age), the “Rolex” is much more than just a watch; it’s an event, officially known as the Rolex International Women’s Keelboat Championship. Since 1981, women from all walks of sailing have come together every two years to celebrate our sport.  Teams form out of book groups, high schools, neighborhoods, mother and daughter connections, and crew/skipper request lists (AKA, blind dates). All that’s required is a knowledge of sailing, a love of competition and camaraderie, and a combined weight of less than 605 pounds.  Oh yeah, and a J/22.

I might be the only skipper who had put together a team before I figured out what regatta we’d sail, or where we’d find a boat.

Kim arrived a few minutes later for dinner and her only hesitation was schedule; the Laser Masters Worlds were already on her fall calendar. Once I assured her there was no conflict she agreed to join us as a jib trimmer.

Two for three.  Now: could I convince Kate to come out of retirement?

The only Rolex I’ve ever steered without Kate was in September 2005, when she expected to be nine months pregnant. As it turned out, Joshua arrived early, overly anxious to check out the big wide world. He spent the event in the preemie ward with round-the-clock care. When I went to visit them both, Kate joked that she could’ve sailed with us after all.

This year, with a four year old and a very supportive family, Kate quickly agreed to join us.  The latest iteration of the Cronin Sailing Team was complete.

In order to fit in some practice during the year (and to guarantee some fun as well), we set up a regatta schedule that started with the J/22 Midwinters in Tampa, FL and then moved north to Annapolis for the NOOD and Midatlantics. We quickly found a boat to charter and in mid-February towed it south for four days of racing against the boys.  We enjoyed the break from winter and the chance to catch up with each other and our other J/22 friends.  And since Kate, Kim and Margaret had never sailed together, we also spent some time figuring out who would do what both on and off the boat.

Kate, we quickly discovered, makes the VERY BEST peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, so she added lunch duty to her bowchick responsibilities. (Never do a bad job well, Kate.)  Margaret learned to stop worrying and fly the kite like a veteran, even though it’s a new job for her.  And Kim, as far as I can tell, does everything else, without ever losing her cool – including the worst part of the trimmer’s job, passing back and forth any and all requested pieces of clothing as the temperature changes.

With such a great team assembled, I plan to sit back and enjoy the ride.  My husband Paul complains that my team spoils me, but I like to think all four of us are spoiled by such a perfect combination of good sailing and great attitudes.

The Rolex starts Oct 6, and we will be ready for a culmination of all our hard work and laughter this year.    Follow along by visiting the regatta website.  And let me know how you have chosen to build your team.

Sometimes the only way to take a break is to head downeast.

For me, Maine means getting on a boat with almost no internet or cell phone reception, plenty of food, and easy sails between harbors where the closest company is an osprey fishing for dinner.  After more than fifty summers cruising in and around Penobscot Bay, my father knows all the best places to anchor.  And once the windlass has done its work (hauling wet anchor lines is SO yesterday), Mom whips up another delicious dinner.

This year’s cruise had the added attraction of joining up with a bunch of like-minded sailors as part of the Cruising Club of America (CCA) cruise.  We met a few folks in Rockport to tour Bolero, currently undergoing a major refit at Rockport Marine.  Nothing like the perspective of a Sparkman and Stephens classic open for viewing (the new deck will go on this fall) to remind us all of the strong link between good boats and great people.

We left Rockport late Monday afternoon and motor-sailed to Pulpit Harbor, on the west side of Vinalhaven.  As a five year old I cut my head badly while on a walk ashore there, so it’s a harbor with lots of family memories.  Dad piloted us into a favorite spot at the top of Cabot Cove, where we anchored all by ourselves in about 12 feet of water.  The quiet coolness provided a pleasant contrast to the heat and humidity we’d been melting under the past few weeks.

Tuesday we motor-sailed to a luncheon on the east side of Deer Isle.  Once we were well-fed and well-socialized, we had a nice sail back to Seal By on the east side of Vinalhaven for another quiet cool night in a snug harbor.

One of Dad’s favorite ways to spend a morning is navigating (preferably under sail) through a complicated channel, and Wednesday provided him with just such an opportunity.  The south coast of Vinalhaven is littered with rocks of all shapes and sizes, creating a sailing maze.  Paul and I manned the sheets while Dad picked our way through, carefully studying the detailed contours on the chart plotter while falling back on an old fashioned, small scale paper chart when he needed a view of the big picture.  Once we emerged into Penobscot Bay again, we close reached across and then beat around the southwest corner, arriving in Tenants’ Harbor in time for cocktails.

On our last morning aboard, we dinghied ashore for a quick walk and ran into several friendly folks.  A dry front had passed through just before dinner the night before, leaving behind crisp crystal fall-like air.  One man walked by and spoke to us around his pipe:  “Summah’s ovah.”  Another asked for help separating an anchor necklace from his daughter’s fine hair.  By the time we returned to  Katrina, we felt like locals.  And Dad let us back aboard even though we’d failed to find any fresh bread.

Thursday’s sail took us west through some more rocky complicated channels into Muscongus Bay.  Around every corner, another understated cottage would peer out at us as we sailed by.  After a quick lunch stop and a motor through Friendship for some great boat gawking, we rafted up with a Concordia 45 and a Bermuda 40 and started the party.

Unfortunately Tropical Storm Danny had changed course toward RI, so we cut short our cruise this year.  But we’ll be back next year to enjoy the cool breeze, challenging navigation, and pine-drenched lungfuls that lie at the head of each harbor.

Matsya shows off her varnished transom

When I formally retired from Olympic sailing (and most importantly, sold my two Ynglings), Paul and I took ownership of a 1938 Herreshoff Marlin. At just over twenty feet long, “Matsya” (Sanskrit for “God of the Fishes”) is big enough to take a few friends along but small enough for either of us to singlehand. Summer evenings, weekend afternoons- there is no bad mood or stressful work day that can’t be cured by a leisurely sail up or down West Passage. Where we go depends on two timeless elements: tide and wind. With 10 foot spruce oars as the only alternative to sailing, we usually head uptide first, figuring that if the wind dies (as it often does at sunset) we will still be able to get back to the mooring. We also factor in sightseeing options: boat gawking, house gawking, amd just enjoying the undeveloped splendor of our side of Narragansett Bay. And of course we try to keep the heel angle to a minimum so we don’t spill the wine or the dinner.

That kind of daysailing is a world apart from the high-end racing we both do. Instead of being rewarded for beating people (in either sense of the term), we are rewarded for deep breaths, for calming thoughts, for savoring the world around us. We take the time to enjoy being on the water, a sensation all too easy to forget in the scurry to and from and around a race course.

Matsya’s birth year made me wonder if she was built before or after the Great Hurricane of 1938, and how she managed to survive if she was already sailing that September. That musing led me to write “Oliver’s Surprise” and send the main character back to 1938 to find out how his favorite schooner survived. Imagination is never linear, and boats (especially old boats) inspire thoughts about our past at a time when we are all too caught up in the present and future. I never would’ve written the same book if we hadn’t added Matsya to the family, but I certainly couldn’t foresee her purchase leading to my first published fiction. Following dreams is never wrong, even if we can’t see where they will lead.

Samba at sunset

Which takes us to the newest nautical family addition: Samba, a Quest 30 that is Paul’s new ride. The boat was well-loved and ably raced by Phil Garland of Hall Spars and Rigging for 13 years, and now it is Paul’s turn to see where she will take him. With a mooring at Clark’s Boat Yard in East Passage, our boats are divided by Conanicut Island. But each is where she belongs: Matsya can be admired as she coasts up and down the slower, quieter West Passage, while Samba will turn heads roaring out of East Passage on one of the doublehanded races Paul has scheduled.

Sailing provides a lifetime of challenges for those of us willing to come back for more each year. So as June rollicks along into July, keep your eyes open on both sides of the Bay for us. We’ll be out enjoying the full variety of conditions and experiences Narragansett Bay can offer. See you on the water!

“Which do you like better, sailing or writing?”

The kid was part of an eager group I spoke to at the Melrose School here in Jamestown.  I tossed him an off the cuff answer: “I like sailing in the summer and writing in the winter,”  which didn’t really satisfy either of us. And the answer I came up with a moment later, “My favorite thing is writing about sailing,” was too late and too trite.  I’d really never thought to compare the two skills before.

Sailing (especially the semi-pro racing I do) rewards fast reaction time – blink and the opportunity is gone. Sometimes it only becomes apparent minutes later how expensive one bad decision was.  That’s why we all enjoy rehashing races at the end of the day, with others who were struggling to react to the same clues. It’s the only chance we get to think over what we did or didn’t do, what worked and what didn’t.

The best races seem effortless, but they are actually a series of snap decisions based on instinct.  There’s no time to revise your first thought, no room for hesitation.  To quote my friend Tim Murphy, there’s no place like the right time.  On days when your instincts line up with the conditions, sailing is like shooting baskets with an invisible piece of shockcord tied to the ball – there’s no place it can go but in.

Writing is like shooting baskets with your eyes closed, surrounded by plate glass windows. Until you know where the story is going, you can’t make any decisions – you just have to keep writing and hope you don’t break anything.  Then, when you’re “finished”, the real work of editing begins. And that’s the true joy of writing, for me; aligning the details and eliminating the dead weight to drag out the story that was waiting, patiently, for me to dig down and find it.