So you may decide I’m not qualified to write this post. Because I’m about to compare writing novels to rearing children.

Recently I started a new-from-scratch book. New characters, new issues, even a whole new island to explore. I’m listening as these newcomers talk, with only a vague idea of how they relate to each other or how they will impact the story.

Many authors know these basic traits before they start writing. The very first entry in the Scrivener character description template (right after the name) is “Role in Story,” even before “occupation” —which is how most folks living in what we call the real world orient themselves.

Obviously that template was designed by an outliner.

With many of these new characters, I have to just leave that section blank. I don’t know most of them well enough yet to figure out how they will interact with this new rock I built under them, or what impact their personalities will have on their world.

Suddenly I’m bottle-feeding these characters of mine, watching them react to a change in the light or another person entering the room. Laughing at the first words, the gestures that were somehow already familiar even before I wrote them down for the first time. Best of all, now that I’ve given up trying to write a perfect book as a first draft, I’m really enjoying this stage too. Getting to know these new not-quite-people is FUN!

I tried outlining, honest I did. Thinking I could take a shortcut to character development. And then when I sat down to write, those characters (who looked so good on paper) refused to talk. Or worse, decided to veer off into the unknown again. So I’ve gone back to my old inefficient methods: listening to them speak, and then following them almost anywhere they choose to go.

Now having a needy baby (or actually, a whole town full of babies) in the house is a major change of lifestyle. And since I haven’t started anything so completely new in over five years, it’s even more of a shock. Oliver’s Surprise, Cape Cod Surprise, and Game of Sails have all been sent out into the world to fend for themselves, and they are all doing just fine. Game of Sails did come back a few weeks ago to ask for a print version, and all three books will likely be on my health insurance for as long as the government allows…  but the characters are all grown up. I know them better than some members of my actual family, know their habits and their mannerisms and—most importantly—their Role in Story.

They in turn know who serves the best coffee in their towns, who’s honest and who’s not, who to turn to in a crisis. Most are even on a first name basis with the local post office staff—and not because their pictures are on the wall.

Best of all, that pesky editing that turns a toddling first draft into a running, leaping, minivan-driving teenaged real story is already behind us.

Like any new parent, I’m both excited and exhausted by the prospect of raising all these new characters. I’ll try to have some say in their development, but I can already tell: they’re stubborn, all of them. These characters are not really unformed, they are just as yet unknown to me. As Michael Haskins recently wrote in Who’s Writing this Story?, “It happened without my doing it. The character popped out with something from earlier in the book. Something I never gave a thought to, until I looked for an ending.”

I can’t wait to give each one the keys to the family car.

—Carol Newman Cronin

When I received the first royalty check for my third book, Game of Sails: An Olympic Love Story, I added a new label to my persona: Professional Author. That’s a big step up from Writer. It tells the world (and me) that I’m more than a one-hit wonder.

What I didn’t realize is that such a serious self-label would also demand a change in my writing habits. You see, before they start writing, Professional Authors make an Outline. They file a literary float plan that announces the route, schedule, and intended destination of their next story to the outside world.

I know, I know, not everyone works that way. But now that I’d dubbed myself a Professional Author, I figured I’d better outline the next book. I couldn’t just sit down and start writing—that would be so unprofessional!

I also figured it would be more efficient to know where we were headed. Writing had always meant following my characters down meandering creeks that diverged from the main channel, typing furiously just to keep up. On slow days I would prod my characters to “do something,” because I really wanted to know what happened next.

Somehow they always led me to the end of the story. And then I’d go back and delete all the dead end meanders so the final chapter seemed obvious.

This time, I’d start with an outline. How hard could it be? I had all the necessary tools right at my fingertips. Scrivener placed a corkboard full of index cards right on my screen, ready to be filled in with plot points. Best of all, doubleclicking on each index card brought up a clean white sheet of “paper” where I could add any details—or even jot down the bare bones of a scene. When I found a web page or photo I wanted to save with the project, I added it to the research folder on the fly. What a great piece of software.

When I needed another look at the big picture, MindNode provided a non-linear approach to brainstorming. And researching a location or particular era was easy, thanks to web searches and the local library.

Over a few months, I managed to come up with rough draft of an outline, my story’s float plan. I could smell the salt air and hear the voices of the main characters, so I figured I’d reward myself by pushing off from shore—writing down scene one.

And that’s when my story drifted onto the rocks.

As soon as I introduced him, Character #1 veered off from the main channel and headed down a meandering dead end creek. Hmm.

Determined to stick to the Plot, I dragged him back onto the page to meet Character #2. When she trounced off in a huff (instead of beginning the pivotal conversation that would set up the next scene), I threw up my hands in frustration. It was a battle of wills, and these two figments of my imagination were winning.

I’ve spent the past two weeks away from my writing, and sometime during that break I came to a decision: no more plotting. No matter how efficient it might seem or what I call myself, outlining obviously doesn’t work for me.

So if your own float plan takes you down a meandering creek some day soon, and you happen to see an Olympic Sailor/Writer/Editor/Professional Author aground in the marsh—don’t worry. I’m just following my characters. And eventually, they will lead me back to deep water.

I’m not too particular about my airplane reading, but I got so lost in this thick book that I even forgot to nap on the long flight to California. By the time the wheels touched down, I’d figured out the “surprise ending” promised by one reviewer—not knowing that yet another surprise had been layered into the final pages. With fresh writing, more than a sprinkle of romance, and a tangled thread weaving past to present, this books is one of the best I’ve read all year.

But now I have a problem. Kearsley’s characters have crossed over the line in my brain that separates reader from writer.

I’ve been digging into my next project—which is at present no more than a bunch of seemingly unrelated ideas. I’ve got a main character, though he keeps trying to work his way out of the limelight. I’ve got a girlfriend obsessed with her ancestors, even though those ancestors can’t seem to lock into a country of origin. I’ve got a box, though I’m not sure what’s in it, and I’ve got a problem to solve. All I need is the right “hurricane” to stir it all together.

Searching for inspiration, my thoughts turned back to The Winter Sea. A historical novel binding together past and present—just what I’m trying to write. So I figured I’d reread it, to see how someone else got the job done.

Calling it research, I sat down to read again. I forced myself to step back from the onrush of “what happens next” to study the details— how they oh so casually piled up to create an impression of character, place, and time.

It was a lovely escape. Until I realized that my writerly daydreaming was focused on Kearsley’s characters instead of my own.

I’m not writing about eighteenth century Scotland (though I’d really like to visit someday). And I’m not writing about a writer, though I will recommend this book to the next person who asks me, “Where do you get your ideas?” The main character, Carrie, answers that question better than I ever could:

“The main ideas for my novels never struck me like a lightning bolt. They formed themselves in stages, like a snowball packed in layers, with clumps padded on here and lumps scraped away there, till the whole thing was rounded and perfect. But by then, I could no longer see the shape of htat first handful I’d scooped up, that first small thought that had begun the process.”

Now I find my own snowball has been melted away by my reading. I need to struggle with my own ideas right now, not bask in the seemingly effortless word choices of another.

So I’ve made a vow: No more Kearsley (though she has a mouth-watering backlist) until I know how my own story ends.

For so many reasons, I pray that knowledge will come soon.

I’ve tried to apply that to fiction writing, putting in the hours at my desk even when it was a struggle, believing that made me a “professional.” But recently I’ve realized that an indirect approach works even better.

The past few weeks, I’ve balanced my desk time with a project in our workshop: building a new kitchen counter. This represents many firsts: the first time working with butcherblock. The first time building a counter from scratch. And most significantly, the first time my husband and I have ever attempted a home improvement project together.

We’re entering the home stretch, and we’re still married—though the hubs did recently decamp for FL. I like to think it’s got nothing to do with our project… but who knows. What I do know is that working with my hands again has actually helped me work better with my brain.

Fiction writing is like no other pursuit. Yes, we need the same skills as journalists and editors, because our stories will be wasted if our words make no sense. But that wordcraft will be wasted without our imaginations, which (if we’re lucky) create memorable characters and the rich, detailed worlds in which they live.

The products of our imagination are most visible when looked at indirectly. It’s kind of like seeing in the dark; peripheral vision is the best way to see something that’s bubbling up out of nowhere. Direct focus (like direct sunlight) will often scare away an idea before it’s had a chance to solidify.

Exercise has always helped me write; a walk, run, or bike ride clears the countertop of my mind, allowing ideas to percolate up to the surface. If I’m lucky, I grab them before they sink out of sight again.

Hands-on projects like building a new counter seem to offer a similar benefit. While I’m trying to figure out what radius would look best on the edge of a cutout for the undermount sink, my imagination is percolating. New characters, fresh scenes, tiny word changes that sharpen the conflict—I never know what might sneak in while I’m actively thinking about something else.

Perhaps there’s something else going on here too. Fellow author Roberta Gately claims that having a real job (as an ER nurse in Boston) keeps her grounded, making her fiction more real. Could it be that fitting in writing around real life actually makes the writing more real?

It seems to work that way for me.

And if you’re wondering about those grooves in the counter, they’re called “runnels.” Perhaps a combination of “rain” and “tunnel.”

What struck me first was the fantastic use of imagery. As a writer I struggle to find images that are neither cliché nor distraction; all through this book, fresh images made me smack my lips in the satisfaction of tasting something new that was just exactly right. On page 1, we hear of “the thick humidity of death.” On page 3, we learn that for middle school girls, “Their eyes were their weapons now.” This steady stream of analogy ties the book together, giving it a literary power that never slows down the page-turning.

The story is told by Dana, a suburban mom whose husband has recently left her for a younger woman. Dealing with her own anger and disappointment is hard enough without also trying to do her best for her two kids, a seven year old boy and a twelve year old girl. Dana is a good mother, but I was grateful she wasn’t too good or too perfect. She makes her mistakes too, which is what keeps this story from becoming too sweet.

Best of all, the ending was the perfect combination of nice and not quite finished. We are left with the feeling that while the characters have grown and improved, they will keep leading somewhat imperfect lives. And with just the right unexpected twist, Juliette also manages to sum up once again the theme of adulthood as glorified middle school. Well done!

It usually bothers me to read the acknowledgements before I have read the book, but in this case learning about where the inspiration for the book came from (and where some of the best teenage lines originated) deepened my appreciation of the characters.

If I’d known such great writing could originate in the town where I grew up, I might not have bolted right after high school.

To view the book trailer or buy this book, visit Juliette Fay’s website.

As a writer, I try to create a few new stories a year. Let me tell you, reading is a lot easier. So for all of us readers, it’s a good thing there are so many talented authors out there.

As my final 2010 blog present to you, here’s my list of recommended reads—to give to yourself, or to someone else.

And no matter what format you consume fiction in these days, I urge you to support your local independent bookstore this holiday.  That’s the only way to help assure it will still be there for you in 2011, and beyond!

Lipstick in Afghanistan (Roberta Gately)
Roberta is one of my writing friends so I may not be totally subjective on this one. But anyone interested in Afghanistan will learn something from this book, a story about an American nurse whose year in Bamiyan helping the Afghans changes her forever. The best crowd pleaser I read in 2010.
Read my review, Loving Lipstick

The Forgotten Garden (Kate Morton)
Quite simply the best book I read this year. Three generations of women tell an interlocking story about their past, which turns out to affect the present—and future. The book starts off in Morton’s home city of Brisbane, but events take all three characters to the coast of Cornwall in England. Enjoy getting lost in this one, as I did.

The Velvet Room (Zilpha Keatley Snyder)
Originally published in 1965, one of my favorite childhood reads is back in print thanks to the Author’s Guild Back In Print initiative. The story is simple, about a girl who finds a secret room that she makes her own (and eventually saves from destruction). Like most of my childhood rediscoveries, I was amazed how many details I’d forgotten about plot and scene; what I remembered (and which grabbed me all over again) is the atmosphere of safety and comfort the author creates by encircling a window seat in velvet curtains.

Diamond Ruby (Joe Wallace)
Although I’ve never met Joe Wallace, I’ve enjoyed getting to know him via word spurts of 140 characters (Twitter’s @Joe_Wallace). Diamond Ruby will be opened under two Christmas trees in my family this year, and hopefully both my nephew and niece will enjoy this story of a young girl growing up in 1930’s Brooklyn who strikes out Babe Ruth. Joe says that many male friends have complained this wasn’t realistic, but Diamond Ruby is based on a true character (Jackie Mitchell) who really did strike out Babe Ruth—shortly before the commissioner banned women from playing baseball “for their health.” Like all authors, Joe has mixed history with imagination to create a wonderful tale.

And in a seasonal toast to e-books, here are two available only on Smashwords:

Sentence of Marriage (Shayne Parkinson)
The first of a series about a young girl growing up in rural Australia in the late 1800′s.  I read this one and couldn’t wait to read the next three books.

The Wrecking Crew (Mark Chisnell)
A gripping ocean-based thriller by a well-known British sailing writer.  Great airplane read!

Other books I reviewed in 2010

The Murderer’s Daughters (Randy Susan Meyers)
An intensely dark but still hopeful novel about two sisters whose father murders their mother. This will be out in paperback in early 2011, and hopefully that edition is just as beautiful as the hardcover. Read my review

The Sea and the Silence (Peter Cunningham)
A page-turning novel (with a beautiful cover) about the life of an Irish woman who comes of age during the 1940’s. Read my review, Savouring The Sea and the Silence

The Swimming Pool (Holly LeCraw)
My “much more than just a beach read” of the year. A surprisingly intense look into a family who summers on the Cape.
Read my review, Diving into The Swimming Pool

Sea Escape (Lynne Griffin)
A fictional escape into the lives of a family trying to cope with the past through letters and memories. Read my review, Escaping to the Sea

Wishing you happy gift giving in 2010, and more time to read in 2011!

Roberta was pitching “Lipstick in Afghanistan,” a novel based on her own experiences as a war-zone nurse. I don’t remember anything from my own presentation, but I do remember the last line of hers: “One of them will not survive.” I also remember telling her that she’d better hurry up and publish while Afghanistan was still in the news—quite optimistic, in hindsight.

I was quickly drawn to this small determined woman, and not just because of her writing. Her cut-to-the-chase Boston accent was tempered by a gracious tolerance for our fellow conference attendees. “I love his ideas,” she’d say, referring to a man whose writing was indecipherable to me. Another guy who constantly interrupted everyone (even the instructor) received the following benediction: “He’s got such energy.” She could always find something positive to say. And I had to agree with all her assessments, even if my own weren’t as saintly.

After the conference we kept in touch, sharing manuscripts and ideas. I have to admit that when Roberta first sent me her work I could barely follow the story. She had packed all her enthusiasm for Afghan history, culture, and people onto the page, bogging down the narrative.

“Try taking out some of the background,” I suggested, trying to be gentle. “As the author you need to know about Elsa’s childhood, but as a reader I just want to know what happens to her next.”

The second draft was much better. I gave her some more feedback, and other than a few chatty emails I heard nothing further—until a year later, when I got an unexpected call: “Carol, I sold my book!” I was almost as excited as she was to see her hard work and perseverance rewarded.

Roberta became a published author because she kept at it, editing and re-editing to chisel out the story—and then editing again once Simon and Schuster took charge. I’m so glad, because she has polished this tale of love and war into a real gem. The finished book has just the right amount of detail to keep the story moving forward, and as an author I understand how much work that apparent simplicity required.

As an editor, I can of course find something to criticize. Toward the end of the book, I found the point of view transitions between Elsa and Parween, her Afghan friend, a bit sudden. But by then I was so caught up in the characters’ lives that I didn’t care. (I even realized at one point that I’d forgotten who the author was.)

The teaser prologue made the climactic scene even more dramatic—and it’s true, “One of them will not survive.” Through nurse Elsa’s eyes, I’ve now tasted the Afghan dust, seen the fear in burqa-clad women’s eyes, heard the scurrying children call out to the woman from “Amrika.” I now know a little of this landlocked country on the other side of the globe, which makes the news stories all the more real.

It shouldn’t surprise me that Roberta—who does aid work around the globe—has written a story that will help us understand how much we have in common with the people of Afghanistan. I’ve watched her novel grow and improve, and now I’ll watch it earn the respect and love of readers everywhere. What a treat to be constantly surprised by my first true writing friend—and to finally hold her finished book in my hands.

I can’t wait to see the movie.

Read an excerpt

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!

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.

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.