Commodore Ralph Munroe's boat Kingfish was half of the original payment for forty acres on Biscayne Bay. Photo: HistoryMiami Archives & Research Center.

I’d always wanted to visit the historic park, which is a slice of Old Florida hemmed in on three sides by condos and busy streets. Thanks to the hard work of preservationists and descendents of the original owner, Commodore Ralph Munroe, a slice of tropical hardwood hammock has been preserved that runs from Main Highway (a Coconut Grove drag strip of restaurants and bars) all the way down to the shoreline of Biscayne Bay. Once enveloped in the leafy quiet of tree canopy, visitors are transported back to the early twentieth century—a time when sailboats were still the best form of transportation.

The Commodore built his home, the Barnacle, in 1891, and since then it’s withstood several minor hurricanes as well as the two big ones in 1926 and 1992 (Andrew). It’s also self-cooled, thanks to a cupola that allows hot air to escape through the roof. Boat-inspired cabinetry shows Munroe’s love for yacht design.

Down on the shore, the boat house (built in 1886, and then rebuilt after the 1926 Hurricane) feels as if the yacht designer has just stepped away for a moment, leaving tools and a half-finished project on the bench. And enough of the marine railway has been preserved to visualize how boats were launched and hauled in the shallow bay. Best of all, trees hide the high rise buildings of Coconut Grove and downtown Miami, allowing visitors to imagine they have truly stepped back in time.

My original reason for a visit to the Barnacle was the tickles of a new Oliver story. Even if our favorite time traveler doesn’t choose to come here, I’m glad he inspired me to visit. The Barnacle gives us all a glimpse of a Florida that’s less than a century in the past—but is an entirely different world in terms of priorities, landscaping, and transportation. It’s well worth a visit for anyone interested in boatbuilding, Florida history—or even time travel.

For more information, visit the Barnacle website. A reprinted edition of The Commodore’s Story by Ralph Munroe and Vincent Gilpin is also available. And the Commodore’s excellent photographs offer a glimpse into the past online, via these archives:

• Historical Museum of South Florida
• HistoryMiami Archives and Research Center
• University of Miami Libraries

That may reduce the familiarity caused by repeated sightings, but it doesn’t make the ebook cover less important. Ebooks need distinctive covers just as badly as their paper cousins.

Scroll down through any list of ebooks and a few covers catch your eye, standing out from the crowd—just like browsing the shelves in a brick and mortar store. Cover design tells the reader intuitively what to expect from a book, which is why traditional publishers have entire departments devoted to cover creation. Much more than the word choice on page 126, it’s crucial for sales to get it right.

The new cover says "contemporary romance."

I didn’t get it right the first time with Game of Sails. The original cover was designed mostly out of laziness; I didn’t have a photo that would be generic enough, so I started from a blank light blue background. The result, in the words of Paula Margulies, looked “like child’s artwork.” She (and all but one of the others who gave me feedback) didn’t see the five sails as intended: representations of the five Olympic rings. Instead, all Paula saw was something that would tell people they were opening another young adult book.

“You’ve got to sell the romance,” she said. “You need two people on the cover, not colored sails.”

So after heaving several large sighs about how long it would take, I began a search through iStockPhoto. I wasn’t sure I’d ever find something that would work. After all, I was looking for a photo of two people I knew well—but who didn’t exist anywhere beyond the page. And they had to look like they were attracted to each other but fighting it—and it had to be outside. But not outside in a field, or a yard, or a parking lot. Outside on the water…

The original cover, which shows five sails as Olympic rings... at least to me.

What were the odds of finding something so specific?

As it turned out, it was just a question of finding the right keywords for my search. After  “man+woman+yearning” led me to chains and more than few whips, I changed “yearning” to “relationship.” Closer, but still lots of bedrooms and smoky restaurants. So I tried adding “watersports” and came up with “Your search returned no results.” Bleh.

Then I tried “relationship+outside,” and somewhere on page 6 I hit the jackpot. No, Casey doesn’t have a thick braid and yes, she’s a bit too short. But the atmosphere created by the photo was just right. I hit download.

All that remained was one of my favorite design challenges: overlaying text so it would be legible, highlight the photo, and balance the page. Finally I added the medal to make it clear what was at stake.

Of course updating the cover isn’t something you can do with a paper book. But with ebooks, I simply uploaded the file and —bingo! Within 24 hours the personality change was made.

What do you think? Does the new cover do a better job of conveying “Olympic love story” than the old one? Let me know in the comments below, and I’ll send a random commenter a coupon for a free download.

A placid barefoot day drifting south with the ebb toward the Jamestown Bridge—what could be better?

Last week I read Elizabeth Berg’s “Dream When You’re Feeling Blue,” also fiction and also full of engaging characters. But 1940’s Chicago made me shiver, not sweat. And Berg’s characters asked tougher questions about war, women’s rights, sacrifice, and the strength of family ties. I couldn’t have possibly plowed through this book in one day; it needed several nights of digestive thought.

And that’s what I love about reading: we can choose our preferred climate, century, and depth of engagement. If we hit it right (as I did yesterday), stories enrich our solitude and take us outside our own lives. If we hit it wrong—well, we can always pick up something else. That’s why books on the nightstand are as valuable as money in the bank.

Two weeks ago I raced Snipes with a skipper who quietly stated that he wanted to rip out the heart of every other competitor on the race course. Of course on shore he loaned tools, boats, and brute strength even before he was asked, offering that unique mix of cooperative competitiveness I so love about small boat racing. Wanting to win should encourage us to help our competitors improve;  the better they are, the more they challenge us to sail our best.

Five days later, I found myself alone in the middle of Narragansett Bay, drifting south with the ebb tide. I spent the leisurely cruise consciously savoring the first-sail-of-the-season, the gleaming varnish, the early shimmer of seabreeze—and the rare sunshine. I felt lucky to be on the water, and quite content—even with a complete absence of competition.

In less than a week, I traveled from one end of the competitive spectrum to the other—all without setting foot in a boat with an engine. No matter what my psyche demands—solitude, heart-ripping competition, or something in between—I can find it on the water.

So here’s another place where books meet boats—they each provide a seemingly endless variety of experience. I can escape for a day or a week, to a harbor down under or a heartland city. Best of all, I can travel light—my imagination will be all the baggage I need.

So this year, I’m giving thanks and naming names. I’m sure I’ll forget someone, so  if you’ve helped me in the past year, thank you! (Carole at BankNewport—who cleared up a pesky lost check with grace and thoroughness—this means you.)

Here goes, in no particular order: a list of the people who make it possible for me to live an offbeat and truly wonderful life.

Paul Cronin, out getting some air

Paul Cronin
If this were the acknowledgement section of a book, the husband would be mentioned last. But since I thought of you first, here’s a public shoutout: thanks for making my life more enjoyable by being so supportive of your non-traditional wife! I look forward to more joint projects (and maybe even a vacation?) in 2011.

Clients
For some reason this great group of people thinks I’m worth the money they pay me, even when I disappear to a regatta during what should be a regular work week. Thanks for allowing me a very flexible schedule—and for staying solvent in a tough economy, so I can continue to thumb my nose at the unemployment figures.

Readers
Writing and publishing books can seem like a thankless and lonely job… until some random email comes in from an unknown reader who picked up one of my books at a library or bookstore and wrote to say “Keep Writing!”  Thanks to readers known and otherwise who have shared their enjoyment of Oliver’s Surprise and Cape Cod Surprise this year.

Teammates
For the past few years, I’ve done a lot of competitive sailing with a group of women who not only give up leisure time to freeze and boil with me, but who also make me laugh. Thanks also to the ever-widening circle of sailing friends who help make the regatta parking lot such a nice place to hang out.

Kim Couranz

In particular for 2010 I want to call out Kim Couranz, one of the top Snipe crews in the world, who crossed the line before me in every single race of our 8 regattas this year. Our fifth place finish at Nationals qualified us for the 2011 Snipe Worlds, and I’m really looking forward to more sailing together next year.

Community
I’ve lived in Jamestown, RI for almost fifteen years, longer than I’ve lived anywhere else, and a large part of my contentment is the people I see around town. I may not know your last name, but the friendly familiarity of our interactions comforts me. Whether I run into you at dinner downtown or in the post office, or if you’re one of those from whom we borrow tools and expertise, thank you for your positive outlook on life. And a very special thanks to all the great folks at Jamestown Hardware, who never laugh at the projects I take on.

Fellow Authors
A new circle of friends was added to my life in 2010 when we gathered together a gaggle of Boston-area authors to talk about how best to market our novels. Since then this loose-knit group has helped launch five books, including Cape Cod Surprise. Best of all, there’s more to come, beginning with Juliette Fay’s launch in January 2011. I can’t wait to share in the future successes of such a smart and supportive group!

Volunteers
Lots of people make my racing possible by running regattas, providing housing and airport pickups, storing cars and boats (that means you, Peter and Connie Commette), and generally supporting my addiction to one-design sailing around the country. I try to thank you whenever I think of it, but it can’t ever be often enough.

Nameless Small Favor Doers
Sometimes those unexpected good deeds from someone I don’t even know can take on a special significance. Locally we call them “Jamestown moments,” but they happen in many different places. So to all the unknown folks who have done me a favor in 2010, especially the nice woman I met yesterday at the grocery store checkout—thank you.

Family
Scattered and diverse as we all are, there’s a strong bond that holds us all together. Best wishes to both Newmans and Cronins for a great Thanksgiving, and Paul and I look forward to sharing it with many of you!

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.

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!

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.