SERIOUSLY? LONG TIME, NO SEE

I was kinda shocked to see I haven't posted in over a year. 

Hiking in NH with a buddy

What's wrong with me? Am I okay? What's taken me so long?

Yes, I'm okay, and I'm just a human. And as far as what's taken me away from blogging?

I have no single answer for that.

I've not marked the moments of my Writing Life more frequently because, well, Life Life was a bit much at times.

To summarize in no particular order since my last post:

WRITING LIFE:

• I moderated two crime and mystery panels at the Newburyport Literary Festival,
• Two short stories were published,
• I have a novel on submissions with my agent,
• I interviewed a famous author for a fundraising event,
• I continue to be on the New England Crime Bake conference committee,
• I enjoyed getting tipsy with my writer peeps at said conference,
• Oh, and moderated a panel at the same,
• I have a major case of agent angst,
• I interviewed a lovely cozy author for her umpteenth book launch,
• I enjoyed participating in various author/book events,
• I've received many wonderful, detailed, heartfelt rejections from very big publishers,
• I contributed to a play about caregivers,
• Oh, and my author Facebook page mysteriously and completely disappeared,
• And I have no idea how or why I pissed off Zuckerberg,

LIFE LIFE:

• My mom passed away,
• My oldest son moved to Brazil,
• Said son married a lovely woman
• I realized learning Portuguese may be in my future,
• Daughter got engaged to a man we adore,
• When middle son says, "You won't have to care for the cat. It belongs to all the roommates," he doesn't mean it,
• I love hiking in VT and NH mountains and the seashores in MA,
• My garage is way, way too full of stuff I can't politely name,
• My husband grew to really love that ornery cat,
• I learned estate battles are ugly and have weirdly unhealthy histories,
• I have incredibly wonderful friends,
• And an amazing husband,
• I am slowly rekindling my socials. 

I may add or delete some posts, but it's just life in all of its glory. 

Overall, I'm good.

And I hope you are, too.

Smiles Don't Fade.

Years slip away fast, but the smiles don't fade. My <cough cough> reunion at Vermont Law and Graduate School was wonderful.

 

Another day. Another Story.

 

I'm thrilled to announce that my short story, "Obscura Eclipse," has been selected to appear on the page alongside these other fine crime writers.

Thank you, Crime Spell Books, for another opportunity to have some fun and create a bit of mayhem!

WEBINAR: LEGAL CONSTRUCTS OF A GREAT MYSTERY

What do you need to write a great mystery? Imagination, of course, and a certain approach to logic and clues that can unravel the most vexing crimes.

Going to law school honed my skills of seeing beyond the obvious and red herrings. For me, getting a JD was my writing BootCamp, although I didn't know it at the time! I foolishly thought my conflict-hating self would just love that career. Nope. Not so much.

Instead, I learned how to parse fact from fiction and how to present a case with (hopefully) airtight logic. I learned that creating a compelling mystery is like formulating a winning strategy for a case using one carefully planted fact (a.k.a. "clue") at a time.

On Tuesday, March 7, I'll present "Legal Constructs of a Great Mystery" to Florida's Treasure Coast chapter of Sisters in Crime. This is an updated talk from the well-received keynote I gave to the League of Vermont Writers.

Pre-registration is required:

https://sistersincrime-org.zoom.us/webinar/register/WN_5xxSVhCCRhCNT0oKCTEL0A


After registering, you will receive a confirmation email containing information about joining the webinar.

Vermont Law School Alumni Book Club.

 

As an alumna of Vermont Law School, I'm looking forward to speaking with "Swans" about my book, "The Troubles," and answering the inevitable questions of what life is like outside the confines of a career in law! Details on how to get a link to the event can be found here:

https://connect.vermontlaw.edu/events-calendar?cid=2&ceid=1064&cerid=0&cdt=9%2f30%2f2021

This event is open to Vermont Law School alumni and guests.

Date: Thursday, September 30, 2021

Time: 7:30 pm ET

A Decent Proposal and a New England Road Trip

If you know me a little bit, you know that I'm president of the New England chapter of Sisters in Crime. You also know that my stomping grounds encompasses six beautiful states, and a little bit of New York, too.

One mission I gave myself this year is to meet as many members as I could in their native habitat. I wanted to see the countryside they call home and meet their extended writer tribe. 

When a Vermont member said, "C'mon up!," it struck a happy note. We decided on a local brewery in what I thought was in a forgotten corner of the state. But it's summer road tripping time, and surprising discoveries are what it's all about. Right?

The Harpoon Brewery in Windsor, Vermont is a hangout haven. Outside, lush plantings surround badminton and volley ball nets. A lawn filled with corn hole platforms and bean bags encourage plenty of friendly competition. Picnic tables and Adirondack chairs wait under shady trees for families and friends to sit and relax a spell. Live music adds to the laid back vibe. 

Once inside, you're greeted with a wall of beer proving this place is far from a forgotten cubby hole.

Our group was six writers strong and pulled from northern Vermont, New Hampshire and even a Canadian ex-pat. Our host traveled twenty minutes. Another traveled more than ninety. Over shandies, stouts, and IPAs, our conversation touched on all aspects of our writing life. 

And the lobster in hand cuffs? For folks in-the-know, the mascot of New England Crime Bake (a mystery and crime writers' conference for those of you out-of-the-know) is a recognizable friend. The day's host, Genie Parrish -- a member of Sisters in Crime New England and a past attendee of Crime Bake -- won a book basket raffle with a tiny version of our mascot duly perched on top. Genie helped set the tone by bringing it along, and it quickly became the star of the day. Our conversations continued and we became aware of another ripple of excitement.

The excitement wasn't about our mascot. At the next table, a young man in a blue-striped shirt got down on one knee in front of a very surprised young woman. He said something. She dabbed her eyes. He slipped a ring on her finger. She dabbed her eyes some more. Our road-tripping destination was their proposal location. The daughter of our host paid their tab as a gesture of love and support. 

I, being the ever-nosy author, wanted to hear their story.

Chris and Emily met online over five years ago. He wanted to meet in person. She said no. He said let's go for a walk. She said she wasn't ready for anything more. He said we can just be each other's friend. They've been inseparable ever since and were already planning to buy a house together, but Chris decided a rock on his sweetie's finger would make a house an even better home. 

So, the Crime Bake mascot added a bit more lore to its legend, and this writer got a road tripping story I won't soon to forget.

Inspirations or Triggers?

This image made me smile before it made me cry.

I spent a rainy afternoon haunting antique stores near my coastal Massachusetts home. Yard sales and forsythia dotted the roads. Young folks were loading up on the stuff old folks were getting rid of. I mused about the generational transfer of wealth and mentally listed the items in my garage waiting for my kids to hurry up and furnish their apartments already.

I was already in a nostalgic frame of mind when I spied this picture. It's simple enough. Just a black ink print on now yellowed paper. In the corner, it's signed, "Townsend 71," and I took that to mean some gent named Townsend created this image in 1971.

I lived for ski weeks at Stratton Mountain
and Otis Ridge.

Memories of weekends at my family's ski chalet in Vermont came flooding back. The chalet already had a life filled with memories before my family purchased it. Skiing in Vermont in the 60's and 70's had a certain vibe to it. Kinda cool. Kinda kitsch. Kinda insider-y. Kinda counter-cultural. The chalet came furnished with all sorts of keen and groovy stuff that was just keen and groovy enough that our family did little more to it than bring fresh sheets and towels. 

My mom and dad were never happier than when we gathered there. The little girl in that painting was me, gripping ski poles that were too long and hand-me-downs, leather already cracked and stressed, but usable. I learned to ski on our weekends in Vermont and know I looked exactly like that picture -- coat flapping, ponytail askew -- as I concentrated on my stem chrisities. When we grew up and lives took root elsewhere, the little brown house became the site of family gatherings and reunions. 

I didn't realize that those memories were like clay in a kiln, being baked into unyielding shapes. I was one kiln. My siblings others. Somewhere inside, a fissure happened, invisible to the naked eye, but lurking in the baked clay so that when the memories were pinged, the vibration was not resonant and pure, but marred by a tinny sound. 

I was at the chalet when I learned my father died. His passing exposed the fractures in my family's fabric. Once the site of family joy, the Vermont house is now the locus of strife. My mom and dad had wishes that all the generations would gather there for years to come.

The picture brought me back to a time when that could have been...to a time of shared dreams and goals, and love. 

My smile dissolved and vision became blurry. I thought I was holding up pretty well and adapting to a new dynamic. People grow and change. Sometimes we grow together. Other times apart. It's just a part of life.

The little girl skiing with such concentration was met at the end of the day with a hot cocoa loaded with marshmallows. She thought of her day as every kid thinks of their day -- that it would be like that forever. 

Life changed. I almost bought that picture. It would have looked great at the chalet, hanging above the long, too-cool black pleather couch that we all loved to hate and was so much like the one in the shop. The couch is long gone and my garage is already full of things waiting for a future. 

I wondered about the artifacts that were inspirations to some, triggers to others.

So, I left it there. 

And moved on.

Thanksgiving and the Tale of Two Hearts

Two hearts?

Well, one heart, really. Just mine. But sometimes it feels split in two.

This Thanksgiving holiday has been marked by wonderful visits. My husband and I traveled to New Hampshire to be with his family. Yes, I stuffed myself on a feast I gratefully didn't have to prepare. Returning the favor with a perfect post-dinner clean-up was a small price to pay. The annual family game night was topped by one of the most epic games of Pictionary ever. Have you ever played this game -- kind of like charades but with drawing the clues instead -- with two award-winning artists who can draw faster than you can think? Three hours later, eight of us had laughed ourselves silly. The next morning's breakfast started with reliving the highlights and laughing even before the caffeine kicked in.

And, of course, The Hike. As many family could manage, we hiked six miles to a remote pond and took the obligatory selfies with the perfect duck face and filters. My college-age daughter let me know I'm hopelessly dorky and my son laughed in a way that's reserved for the I'm-glad-I'm-not-seen-with-her-in-public kind of way. I basked in their gentle teasing because they freely gave their love and I felt new doors open in our relationships. They are becoming fine adults and my maternal heart swelled.

I'll cherish these memories and let their positive energy fill me and carry me on through the tougher times.

Because earlier in the week I was with my parents. I spent five days at their New York home and became painfully aware these will be my dad's last holidays. I left as my sister arrived, with all the Thanksgiving fixings packed carefully in her car to ensure her three Labrador dogs didn't feast early on the four-hour trek from her Vermont home. I spent my visit outfitting my parents' home with the stuff of the ailing and aged, taking my dad to doctor's visits, and checking his O2 levels. She called in hospice.

And this is where a piece of my heart feels as if I left it somewhere along the highway. The full spectrum of family pulled on me in one short week. I hurt for my dad. I ache for my mom. I felt surrounded by love and laughter as I texted and emailed and called for updates.

I cannot deny this process of life even as I know it inevitably leads to death.

So, for now, my heart is full to the point of breaking and I will cherish all of what these holidays have to offer.

BOOK REVIEW: Heron Island by R.A. Harold

HERON ISLAND by R.A. Harold

Heron Island by R.A. Harold is a meticulously researched and lushly written turn-of-the-century murder mystery set on an island in Vermont.

The back cover description sums up the book best: "Widowed Rough Rider Dade Wyatt longs to cast off his shadowed past and retreat to a quiet life as a security operative for paper tycoon Warren Dodge. But when plans to host Wyatt’s old commander Teddy Roosevelt on Dodge's idyllic Vermont island are imperiled by a guest’s death, Wyatt descends into a maelstrom of poverty, anarchy and class war to safeguard the President and catch a killer."

Real life historical figures like Teddy Roosevelt, Vermont Lieutenant Governor Nelson Fisk and William Seward Webb populate a cast of richly drawn characters. Fictional Wyatt is helped by a Creole manservant as Wyatt draws upon his considerable deduction skills to solve a murder. 

Harold achieves what few authors can. She brings to life the history and social tensions of a period of time, then weaves motive and opportunity around the norms of that day. Her settings are detailed, characters fittingly drawn, and story moves at a pace indicative of high-society--carefully, with measured steps.

Summer is the perfect time to transport yourself to another era by becoming engrossed in this book. You will come away thoroughly entertained and have a greater understanding of American history

BIO:

Robbie Harold, Author

Roberta (Robbie) Harold is a novelist, poet and non-fiction writer from Montpelier, Vermont. As R.A. Harold, she is the author of two historical mysteries, Heron Island, set in Vermont, and its sequel, Murdered Sleep, set in Washington, DC. Murdered Sleep won the 2015 Genre Fiction award from the Independent Publishers of New England (IPNE). Her work has been published in Vermont Life, Hunger Mountain, Synezoma, and South Carolina Review. A 2001 graduate of Middlebury College’s Bread Loaf School of English, she won its Robert Haiduke Poetry Prize in 1999. She is a frequent contributor of articles and reviews to the Montpelier Bridge and is active in community theater. She is currently at work on two new novels, neither of them mysteries (except, at this point, to herself).