Christmas In Black and White

It's almost Christmas where I live but on Deanes Island, the seasons don't change much. Maybe I should do something about that. When I was young, Christmas was probably the most important holiday we had. We had a black-and-white TV which showed us nothing but black and white commercials. We had to use our imaginations for the rest. We didn't mind, though, because we also received a Sears and Roebuck catalogue every fall which was filled with loads of colored photographs. My mother would allow us to look through it and mark what we would like for Christmas. Of course we were old enough to know we wouldn't receive everything we marked. I think this was her way of asking us without having us write a letter to Santa. She assured us that Santa would know what we wanted. In kid fashion, we believed everything about Santa was magical and he would see what we had marked.

Sometimes, on a Saturday afternoon, when my father wasn't working, he and my mother would take us to a nearby general store where toys were sold. Once there, we would walk slowly through the toy section and point to toys we would like to have. I especially remember a trip where we saw life-like baby dolls, very popular at the time, which were dressed in baby clothes and smelled like baby powder. My two younger sisters and I were enthralled, and naturally, we all wanted one of those baby dolls for Christmas. Sure enough, Santa delivered and we each had a doll of our own. I have a picture of the occasion.

      

 As you can  see we were very happy. I'm the one on the left, next to our younger brother who received a dump truck. Poor thing. Although, he looks happy, too.

Writing a Book Can Be Strange

I'm back to writing my second book of the Deanes Island Mysteries series When Murder Interferes, and much has changed. We have new people in town and new houses. New businesses have arrived and have been welcomed by the citizenry. I almost feel as strange as Noah and Isaac while trying to figure out who the people are behind these new faces.

In the meantime, the Noah Drinkwater books continue. Noah and Isaac are busy with their police work as usual. However, their work is getting more complicated. Several new families have moved to the Island, and others are buying up land and having houses built. It makes it difficult for Fairhaven's police force to keep up with everything. Noah's hoping Mayor Sewall will keep his promise to let him hire one or two more officers. His department needs the help of at least two more men.

Now it's time for me to get back to my writing, and I'll let you get back to your work. Remember, this blog can be found on my Amazon.com Author's page as well. Look for Susan Davis Cummings and you'll also find my 1st book about Noah Drinkwater, Murder Is Always Evil. I also have a Facebook page under the same name, Susan Davis Cummings, where you can message me with comments or questions. Or, just to say Hi! I love to meet my readers.

Thank you all for your interest in my work.

Explanations

It seems like forever since I looked at the work I've done on WHEN MURDER INTERFERES, Book 2 of the Deanes Island Mysteries Series. All my characters were ready with their questions and complaints on why I've been gone so long. After I explained the story of my move to them, they were somewhat more understanding. Hazel in particular understands how unsettling it is to pack your life up and move all your baggage to another location, having done it a couple of times herself.

Noah and Isaac on the other hand just want to get back to work and solve their current murder case. They can't understand why packing and unpacking is such a problem for me. Of course they don't realize that even though they're living in the 1950's, I'm stuck in the next century where everything has sped up and I've lost much more then the approximately two weeks of their time.


But don't worry guys, I plan to be back tomorrow.

Time Out

I'm taking a few minutes from my packing to let you know what's going on. My husband and I decided to sell our current house and move closer to our daughter and her family. About thirty days ago we sold our house and found another one to buy only a few miles from where our daughter lives. It's taken a few weeks for the realtors and bankers to do their thing and tidy up all the loose ends, but in a couple of days we'll be having the closing on our next house.

It's been a struggle for us to get organized and begin our packing. When we were younger, nothing fazed us. Now, it seems to be never-ending, and we're both worn out from the organizing and gathering of all of our possessions in order to make them fit into a box. It's turned out to be next to impossible, but we're managing. By this time next Friday we'll be relaxing in our new home, surrounded by the debris of our unboxed possessions.

                                      HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Keep It Simple

The one thing I've always tried to do whenever possible is keep it simple. I hate clutter in my living spaces as well as in my writing. A surplus of unnecessary things in a room, added just to fill spaces, is repugnant to me. I start feeling nervous as if I may soon be buried under the stuff. I imagine this reaction could be a form of claustrophobia, since I also become nervous in tight spaces.

When I write, I feel the same way. I try to use as few words as possible to present my thought. I find myself editing as I go in order to pare my sentences to the least amount of words. I don't think a thought has to be explained in a surplus of words for readers or listeners to understand its meaning. A few well-chosen words will usually do the trick. I've written this way since I was a kid in school. I never thought about it. It just came naturally.

Now that I'm writing books, I can't help noticing the darn word counter at the bottom of every page. I want to rid myself of it, but I also find myself peeking at it furtively. Is it becoming an obsession? Will it change my writing style? I know many readers prefer wordy books. The more words, the better. The more pages, the more desirable the book. I understand. I used to prefer long books myself, until I noticed I was skipping sections I found to be unnecessary to the gist of the story. After that, I gradually became bored by very long books, even books by authors I used to love. All this doesn't mean I don't appreciate descriptive writing. I love well-written descriptions, and can almost lose my soul in the middle of an especially good one.

If you have found your reading and writing likes and dislikes have changed over the years, let me know. I can't be the only one.

Maine as I Knew It

Yarmouth, Maine is a small town in Southern Maine not far from the city of Portland. My family moved to Yarmouth when I was seven years old and had just started second grade in Cumberland where we had lived since I was born. It was a change which my older brother and sister and I felt the most.

 Leaving close friends and neighbors to move to a brand new place we had never heard of was a little scary for me and my brother, but much worse for my sister who had just started high school. My parents spent days and nights listening to my sister complain. She even refused to move and tried, I can imagine, to find a friend who would take her in. No luck. Soon the hated day came and we all moved to a Victorian house built in the 1930's that was cold in the winter and hot in the summer, at least in the upstairs bedrooms where we all slept.

But we loved it. The house came with a beautiful yard where we could play, summer and winter. Behind the house the land sloped downhill and provided a wonderful place to go sledding. It was the most fun we'd had in years. In the summer, since we were near to downtown, we were free to walk to the library, go exploring, and just plain have fun. My mother never had to worry about what we were doing or where we were going.

Life in a small town in the 1950's was magical and carefree with none of the worries we have today.

Opening Pages of Murder Is Always Evil

CHAPTER ONE

I

jumped out of bed, and ran to my car, not knowing why or how, just that I had to find him. It was still dark, but I could see the car, as if the moon were shining only for me.  Someone was hurt. I had heard a cry come out of the dark, and terror filled my mind. I had been sound asleep, but the vision was real. I had seen it and heard it, and I knew I had to get there without fail. Where I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. I tried to open the car door, but my hand kept slipping. I tried to get to the other side, but I couldn’t move. My legs wouldn’t work. My body felt leaden. My heart was racing, and I could feel the sweat trickle down my neck. The terror returned. I reached down to move my leg with my hands. Nothing happened. I tried to holler, but my throat was dry as dust. I was trapped. I felt the world closing in on me. I would smother and die. Then suddenly, I gasped, and awoke in my bed.

I was alive. It was only a dream. I lay there quietly while my heart stopped thumping in my chest. It’s just a dream. I kept repeating the mantra until I felt calm.  It’s just a dream.  My mind knew it was just a dream, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone, somewhere, was hurt.

***

Unsettled by the dream, Noah got up and went outside. It was almost dawn, the best time of the day.  He scanned the sky. It was going to be a beautiful one. He was already up, and he decided to start the day right. He got the car and drove to the most peaceful place he knew, Jim’s woods, where he felt most at home. There, he got out of his car and walked while his mind gradually rid itself of the memory of that dream. As he walked, he allowed his thoughts to drift, and memories of other Fall days filled his mind. He savored the feeling of freedom and enjoyed the quiet as he wandered the woodland trails. He remembered his school days and cutting through these woods after school. Without a thought in his head, he would stroll along as if time had stopped. Noah continued walking and thought about the dreams which had always plagued him. He could never pinpoint what triggered them. They had always appeared unexpectedly and seemed to haunt him with the feeling of someone crying for help.

As he walked, he looked around. The sun was starting to appear, and he could see more of the colors in the woods. Fall was his favorite season, and although in Maine the season is full of death, Noah accepted it as just another part of nature’s work. First came the beauty and devastation of Fall. Then came the peace of Winter, while nature rested under a frozen blanket, waiting. Finally, Spring arrived, with its rebirth of life and beauty, bringing joy to the world.

Now it’s the middle of October, and Fall is presenting another extraordinary show. The trees lining his path are full of leaves bright with colors of red, yellow and bronze, competing with a sky so blue it dazzles the eyes. Noah hears the crunching of dead leaves as he walks. Dew is sparkling on the few green leaves left on the trees, but their stems are weakening in the frigid air. Soon, they too will give up, and fall to the ground to die—brown and shriveled—on the cold earth, no reds, golds and bronzes for them.

Noah stops, stunned. Ahead of him on the path lies something so awful, it fills him with dread, and the terror of his dream comes back. The thing is laying in a patch of morning sunlight, as quiet and colorful as the stand of hardwoods surrounding it. Only this time Fall has outdone herself, for the colorful body is red with blood, a red so bright and beautiful no leaves can compete. Noah knows now an angel of Death has come for his friend, and there will be no rebirth in the Spring for him.  

                                  Colors of Fall in Maine

Murder Is Always Evil, Why Drinkwater?

Deanes Island came straight from my imagination. Casco Bay, where it lies (supposedly) among the cluster of islands that comprise the Casco Bay Islands off the coast of Maine, is a beautiful spot year round. When I lived in Yarmouth, Maine and drove to my place of work in Portland, I very seldom lost sight of the water. I used to love that drive.

Noah Drinkwater and his family lived on Deanes Island for many years. He and his sister were born there, probably at home, since they would have been born a few years after my mother was born in 1920. My mother was also born at home. Noah is two years younger than Annie, who always looked after her little brother.

My mother's father was a Drinkwater, the son of a Portland, Maine sea captain, who sailed all over the world. I wish I had stories of his to relate, but I don't remember hearing any. I think a disconnect of some sort must have occurred between my grandfather and his father to cause the silence between them. My mother grew up poor, and my grandfather spent most of his working life in local mills. He managed to support his family, but just barely. When his father died, he left his Portland house to my grandfather and my Uncle Edgar. We spent many Sunday afternoons visiting my Baba and Maimie Drinkwater. We Davis kids loved his house and managed most of the time to stay out of trouble. Once every other visit or so, we ventured into the formal living room where the good furnishings were. When that happened, we were soon confronted by our grandfather who told us to go outside and play. Sometimes we would visit on Saturday evenings and watch the TV show"The Creaking Door, that is, our parents and grandparents watched while we played outside on the porch.

When my grandfather got too old to stay in his home, my father converted a shed next to the kitchen into a bedroom and sitting area for him. He stayed with us for several years during which time he would visit his other children who lived in different parts of the country. He eventually needed more care than my mother could provide and he moved into a Yarmouth nursing home. He didn't stay there long because he wanted to move back with his family. One day my mother got a call from the nursing home telling her my grandfather had become unruly, and could no longer stay there. It seems he had talked his roommate into escaping with him and they were on their way to the door when a nurse spotted them. I laugh every time I think of my 90+ grandfather and his confederate plotting their escape and almost succeeding.

Noah and Annie Drinkwater, lead characters in Murder Is Always Evil

When Noah was 14 yrs. old and Annie was two years older, their parents were killed outright by a speeding truck which hit them head-on as they were driving back from Falmouth on Route 1. Annie and Noah were left with nothing but their grief. If it hadn't been for Jim Aleynby and his offer of a home, they don't know what would have happened to them. Their parents had never said if they had relatives in Maine or even mentioned if other family existed.

Jim Aleynby's family had helped to settle Deanes Island and he was the largest landholder. His farm was well-established and self-supporting. He and his Uncle had worked the farm together, and after his Uncle died, Jim had continued on his own.

When Noah and Annie came to live with Jim, he told them he expected Noah to help him run the farm and care for the woodlots, and Annie would help Mabel in the kitchen and learn to run the house. If they did well in school, he would pay for a college education. He was a thoughtful and loving caretaker and taught Noah and Annie well. They came to love him, too.

Noah decided he wanted to become a policeman and joined the Portland Police Department after high school. Annie chose college and earned her teaching certificate at Gorham Normal School in Gorham, Maine. Noah moved back to the family home after he had been hired as the Police Chief for Deanes Island and Annie found a small apartment near the school where she teaches.

             Picture of the Principal's residence at Gorham Normal School.

Introducing Murder Is Always Evil

Noah Drinkwater, a young man in his 20's or 30's was born on Deanes Island in Casco Bay, near the City of Portland, Maine. He is the Chief of Police of Fairhaven, the only town on Deanes Island. His sister, Annie, is a teacher in the Fairhaven school system.

Deanes Island is an imaginary island with imaginary people. It's near enough to the mainland for a bridge to have been built connecting the Island with Portland. The people who live in Fairhaven are happy with their lives and would prefer to have nothing change. Even the yearly visits by  summer people haven't upset their equilibrium. Some of these visitors come from as far away as Massachusetts, New York and Canada and always have plenty of money to spend. The locals look forward to earning a little extra money by performing odd jobs for the tourists. Over the years they have achieved a happy balance.

Noah and Annie love living and working on Deanes Island and also hope nothing changes. Noah is a quiet and thoughtful man who is liked and respected by the townspeople. Isaac, his Assistant Chief, is also well-thought of in town, especially by people who see him out and about. He's friendly and talkative and usually leaves people smiling. The other member of the Police Department is Aaron Towle, who works only part-time but is always available if needed.

Into this idyllic scene comes the murder of a well-liked resident whose family helped to settle the Island. No one who knew him can understand why he was killed, and his family is shocked. Noah and Isaac must try to solve the mystery of this man's death before all Hell breaks loose and someone else is murdered.

My Amazon Author Page

The address for my Amazon Author page is below. Copy and paste. or highlight and right-click.

amazon.com/author/cummingsd

The Process of Writing Can't Always Be Explained

I have always enjoyed writing and English was definitely my favorite class in school. Reading thrilled me, and the books I read inspired me. We always had books around the house because both my parents enjoyed reading.

I never imagined I would ever write a book because I always thought of authors as strange and magical people. This was  after I had learned authors were actually real people. Before that, I never noticed the names and pictures on the covers, and hurried to the story inside.

As I got older and my English teachers started mentioning authors, and assigned particular books and authors for us to read, the whole concept that real people sat down one day and wrote the stories I was reading, finally sunk in. Even then it never occurred to me that one day I could be one of those authors.

It may seem strange to readers of this blog but I bet most of my classmates had similar ideas. We just weren't very sophisticated, especially about things that happened outside our small town or maybe even outside our state. We lived in a more innocent world than children do now, and we were lucky to be able to maintain that innocence for more years than children of today can.

Published Book 1

My book is now live on Amazon.com in both paperback and Kindle eBook.

I've been surprised at how easy the process turned out to be. Amazon also provides help and tips for promoting my books. I am already working on my second book in the series, Deanes Island Mysteries.

               
                     A Short Description

On Deanes Island where peace and quiet reign, the residents do not expect murder, but suddenly, they’re right in the middle of one and find themselves surrounded by evil. A neighbor has been brutally murdered, and no one knows how or why. The Island’s young, handsome Police Chief, Noah Drinkwater and Isaac Sanders, his Deputy, are finding that Love, Hate, Fear and Envy, the strongest of human emotions, all exist on their small Island in Maine. Rumors are spreading quickly throughout town and no one knows what will happen next. Everything strange and different becomes suspect and the only certainty in town is the fear that time is against them, and the Police won’t be able to prevent another murder.

 Mystery readers of all ages will love this book describing heinous death in the middle of quiet family lives. It’s murder on an emotional roller-coaster, in a town with romance and carnage existing side-by-side. The author lets you see into the thoughts of the murderer. Then, You, the reader, rides along as the Police Chief fights Evil for control of his town.

Noah Drinkwater is probably the youngest Police Chief in Maine, but his soul is ancient. If you love watching a strong, close-mouthed investigator ravage people’s lives as he searches desperately for the truth, you will love this book.

A Short Description of my new book: Murder Is Always Evil

Publication date is getting closer. Here is a short description of my book:

MURDER IS ALWAYS EVIL

On Deanes Island where peace and quiet reign, the residents do not expect murder, but suddenly they're right in the middle of one and find themselves surrounded by evil. A neighbor has been brutally murdered, and no one knows how or why. The Island's young, handsome Police Chief, Noah Drinkwater and Isaac Sanders, his Deputy, are finding that Love, Hate, Fear, and Envy, the strongest of human emotions, all exist on their small Island in Maine. Rumors are spreading quickly throughout town and no one knows what will happen next. Everything strange and different becomes suspect and the only certainty in town is the fear that time is against them, and the Police won't be able to prevent another murder.

Mystery readers of all ages will love this book describing heinous death in the middle of quiet family life. It's murder on an emotional roller-coaster, in a town with romance and carnage existing side-by-side. The author lets you see into the thoughts of the murderer. Then you the reader rides along as the Police Chief fights Evil for the control of his town.

Noah Drinkwater is probably the youngest Police Chief in Maine, but his soul is ancient. If you love watching a strong, closed-mouthed investigator ravage people's lives as he searches desperately for the truth, you will love this book.

       

                               Coast of Maine           (credit: Cathy)

  

The Perils of Typing Even on New-fangled Laptops

I'm finally at the last stage of readying my book, Murder Is Always Evil, the first book in the Deane Island Mysteries Series, for publishing with Kindle Direct Publishing. That stage, unfortunately, is searching for typos and other errors in the manuscript. Microsoft Word is extremely helpful in this, especially compared to the reports I used to write for school using carbon paper in my portable typewriter, bought just for that purpose.

I've never been able to type well and I've always blamed it on my short, stubby fingers. Now, it seems, those same fingers perform even worse on my laptop. Every time I look at the results of my half page of laptop typing, I should cry, but the gibberish I come up with is too funny. Luckily, I know my book so well by this time I can usually figure out most of the words, except for the few times when I see a word that looks like this: "dartgiwf".

Me. Still using my old portable for my personal writing in the 1970's, with the help of my cat Ginger.

 Who would know the word I was supposed to type was: "startle?

I will eventually overcome and finish with a manuscript ready to publish. In the meantime, I'm enjoying most minutes of it, and hope to have the first couple of pages published right here on my blog, first. Stay tuned.

Maine Flowers

Maine flowers are beautiful. In Yarmouth, where I grew up, flowers were everywhere, both cultivated and wild. We were lucky when we moved into our new house, because the previous owners had planted wonderful flowering shrubs, lilac, bleeding heart, honeysuckle and others. Numerous small flower gardens could be seen planted in different areas of the yard. I don't remember my mother or father planting flowers, but my mother always had a Christmas cactus in the home. Spring at our house would surprise us with her beautiful and heart-warming colors.

When I married, my husband and I first lived in apartments in various southern Maine towns. Eventually my husband got tired of this nomad life, and we started looking for land on which to build our own home. The first piece of land was in Windham, and with a lot of hard work and assistance from my husband's two brothers, we completed our first house. Because we first had to clear the land where the house would be situated, we were left with a few trees and no flowers in our yard. After going on a buying trip we found a couple of shrubs and a few flowers. Money was tight.

First House under construction: First floor and daylight basement.

Here I am doing my share of the nailing of the floor boards.

After we built our third house, we had more time and a little more money.

We decided to plant a Day Lilly garden next to the side door which turned out to be a success.

We enjoyed it, and the butterflies especially enjoyed it. We planted Shasta lilies by the front door, and crocuses, daffodils and tulips under the front window, and in little clusters scattered throughout the front lawn. We also planted roses, Hosta plants and Hydrangea next to the fence which ran along the front walkway.

We were very proud of our flowering gardens. At the time we were unaware we were following in the spirit and the footsteps of most Maine people who plant a few Spring flowers in the Fall to greet them after the long, hard winter.

In the Fall we planted marigolds and geranium to assist the Fall leaves with keeping the color alive right up to the first snows, just as Hannah Aleynby did in my first book, Murder Is Always Evil.

"Murder Is Always Evil" Main Character, Noah Drinkwater

Introducing Noah Drinkwater, Chief of Police, Main character in my book Murder Is Always Evil.

Noah is a tall good-looking young man with blonde hair and blue eyes. Reserved in his manner, he mostly keeps his thoughts to himself. He’s serious about his work and determined to do well for his town. He’s well-liked and respected by the townspeople.

 Forced to mature at an early age after the death of his parents, Noah is committed to law enforcement. He’s honest and has a friendly nature but is mostly a loner. His closest friend is Isaac Sanders, an officer in the Fairhaven Police Dept. and a resident of the town. Noah was hired after high school by the Portland Police Dept. to train as an officer. After working for the PPD for a few years, and earning a couple of commendations, Noah was happy when the Mayor of Fairhaven on Deanes Island recruited him for the position of Police Chief. Glad to have a chance to return to his hometown, he accepted the position. 

Noah married Hazel Curtis when he was 21 and she was 20, but the marriage only lasted about two years.

A Boy and his Dog

My grandson is a wonderful kid. We've been fortunate in having him living near us most of his life. When we moved to Florida, he and his family moved down first when he was still a baby. He had his first birthday in Florida so he is a true Florida boy. Except for a few excursions back to Maine when he and his family lived and worked in southern and mid-coast Maine for a couple of years each time, he has lived in southwest Florida near us.

His mother, our daughter, home-schooled him until he was seven or eight when he decided he wanted to go to school with other kids. So, one day he got on the school bus and went off to school with his neighborhood friends. He did well in his classes and loved school. He's now almost finished with eighth grade and looking forward to high school. Along the way he learned to play the trumpet and is looking forward to possibly having private lessons this summer. We are all proud of him.

     My grandson fishing at his other grandparents' camp in Maine. 

I can't help thinking of his experience and wondering if I would have enjoyed being home-schooled. I loved school even though I was shy and quiet in class. Because I loved learning new things I did well in school and was happy with the variety of activities available for me to try. As I got older I found myself mostly bored in my classes and usually got through them by reading ahead in my textbooks. The teachers never seemed to notice, or if they did, didn't care because my grades were good.

 My grandson's dog trying to catch fish.

                             
I think now that homeschooling would have been good for me and my younger sisters and brother, and possibly for my older brother. We lived in a small town and had neighborhood friends to play with, and we usually spent our time walking the streets of our town to see what was happening elsewhere. I would have loved reading and learning as much on a subject as I wanted, and probably would have blossomed in an atmosphere where I would have been free to explore whatever peaked my interest.

                                    Fishing in Southern Maine.

Maine Churches

Maine has more churches than courthouses, it seems. Yarmouth, where I  grew up, had at least six churches when I lived there and maybe more that I've forgotten. My family attended the First Baptist Church on Main Street. At that time it was part of the American Baptist Conference, and our pastor was a friendly, welcoming man and preached sermons from the Bible which mainly were teaching sermons. He never preached "fire and brimstone" sermons which condemned all his congregation to Hell if they didn't shape up.

It was a great church in which to grow up with Sunday School in the morning and fun-filled meetings for Junior High and High School students in the evening. The Pastor and his wife usually led these meetings, and did their best to make them interesting. As corny as they sometimes were, I was willing to give them a pass, and tried not to judge them too harshly.

After I graduated high school, I left for Pennsylvania where I attended a private college. Unfortunately, it was a quasi-religious school which required chapel once or twice a week, and prayer meetings in the dorm. I enjoyed the classes and non-religious activities, but after two years of having religion forced on me, I decided to return to Maine and enroll in the University of Maine, Portland for my last two years. What a relief. That private college was the beginning of my path to a loss of faith.

I think I attended the Baptist Church in Yarmouth off and on until I was married there and then moved to an apartment in North Windham with my new husband. A few years later I heard of the retirement of the pastor who had guided me in a religion that was loving and honest at my hometown church.

Much later when my daughter was going to marry, I contacted my hometown church, which my older brother still attended, and requested a date for her wedding ceremony. Little did I know how much that church had changed until the woman I spoke with on the phone treated me as if I were Satan himself, and how dare I think I could use their Church. Even after I explained to her that it used to be my family church and I had spent many happy years there until the day when I was married there, it didn't matter. She was firm in her righteousness. I mentioned this to my father, and he must have told my brother who stepped in and made it possible for my daughter to be married in the hometown church where I had been happy. She had a beautiful wedding, but I lost all respect for that church's congregation who supported a religion filled with hate instead of the love of Jesus in whom they proclaimed to believe.

My Portland Connections

Even though I grew up in Yarmouth and lived there until I married, I also have as strong a connection to Portland, Maine. I was born in Portland and had my tonsils out in a hospital there when I was eight yrs. old. I finished the last two years of college at the University of Maine at Portland-Gorham (POGO) or USM as it is now called. I met my husband in Portland and started my first career in Portland at the Portland Public Library's Jane L. Burbank Branch on Pleasant Ave. I remained at PPL for ten years, leaving after the first birthday of my daughter, who was also born in Portland.

My family has connections to Portland. My Great Grandfather owned a house on Valley St. across from the stairway which descended from the top of the Western Promenade to the Valley St. sidewalk. My mother grew up in Westbrook, but after she graduated from Westbrook High School, she moved into her grandfather's house which now belonged to her father.

At different times during my school years, I traveled to Portland to visit my grandparents, to shop, go to the movies and to visit Hays Drugstore to enjoy an ice cream soda, just as Noah and Annie did. At one time my father's brother-in-law owned the Puritan Diner in Portland on Congress St. where my father helped out when he was younger. The summer after I finished my first year of high school, I volunteered at a medical laboratory on Pleasant Ave. just up the street from the Burbank Branch Library. At that time in my life, I thought I wanted to have a career in medical research.

Portland, Maine is probably my all-time favorite city. It is varied in its people, varied in its food, varied in its educational and religious institutions and has managed to respect its history. I love that city.

Murder Is Always Evil, Why Drinkwater?

Deanes Island came straight from my imagination. Casco Bay, where it lies (supposedly) among the cluster of islands that comprise the Casco Bay Islands off the coast of Maine, is a beautiful spot year round. When I lived in Yarmouth, Maine and drove to my place of work in Portland, I very seldom lost sight of the water. I used to love that drive.

Noah Drinkwater and his family lived on Deanes Island for many years. He and his sister were born there, probably at home, since they would have been born a few years after my mother was born in 1920. My mother was also born at home. Noah is two years younger than Annie, who always looked after her little brother.

My mother's father was a Drinkwater, the son of a Portland, Maine sea captain, who sailed all over the world. I wish I had stories of his to relate, but I don't remember hearing any. I think a disconnect of some sort must have occurred between my grandfather and his father to cause the silence between them. My mother grew up poor, and my grandfather spent most of his working life in local mills. He managed to support his family, but just barely. When his father died, he left his Portland house to my grandfather and my Uncle Edgar. We spent many Sunday afternoons visiting my Baba and Maimie Drinkwater. We Davis kids loved his house and managed most of the time to stay out of trouble. Once every other visit or so, we ventured into the formal living room where the good furnishings were. When that happened, we were soon confronted by our grandfather who told us to go outside and play. Sometimes we would visit on Saturday evenings and watch the TV show"The Creaking Door, that is, our parents and grandparents watched while we played outside on the porch.

When my grandfather got too old to stay in his home, my father converted a shed next to the kitchen into a bedroom and sitting area for him. He stayed with us for several years during which time he would visit his other children who lived in different parts of the country. He eventually needed more care than my mother could provide and he moved into a Yarmouth nursing home. He didn't stay there long because he wanted to move back with his family. One day my mother got a call from the nursing home telling her my grandfather had become unruly, and could no longer stay there. It seems he had talked his roommate into escaping with him and they were on their way to the door when a nurse spotted them. I laugh every time I think of my 90+ grandfather and his confederate plotting their escape and almost succeeding.

Background for the Deanes Island Mysteries series

Noah Drinkwater, a young man in his 20's or 30's was born on Deanes Island in Casco Bay, near the City of Portland, Maine. He is the Chief of Police of Fairhaven, the only town on Deanes Island. His sister, Annie, is a teacher in the Fairhaven school system.

Deanes Island is an imaginary island with imaginary people. It's near enough to the mainland for a bridge to have been built connecting the Island with Portland. The people who live in Fairhaven are happy with their lives and would prefer to have nothing change. Even the yearly visits by  summer people haven't upset their equilibrium. Some of these visitors come from as far away as Massachusetts, New York and Canada and always have plenty of money to spend. The locals look forward to earning a little extra money by performing odd jobs for the tourists. Over the years they have achieved a happy balance.

Noah and Annie love living and working on Deanes Island and also hope nothing changes. Noah is a quiet and thoughtful man who is liked and respected by the townspeople. Isaac, his Assistant Chief, is also well-thought of in town, especially by people who see him out and about. He's friendly and talkative and usually leaves people smiling. The other member of the Police Department is Aaron Towle, who works only part-time but is always available if needed.

Into this idyllic scene comes the murder of a well-liked resident whose family helped to settle the Island. No one who knew him can understand why he was killed, and his family is shocked. Noah and Isaac must try to solve the mystery of this man's death before all Hell breaks loose and someone else is murdered.

Never Stop Daydreaming

I've always enjoyed having conversations in my head, but it's not the same as hearing voices in my head. Oh, no. I dream up conversations I could have had with people I know, and these conversations always turn out much better than any real conversations I did have. Or, I go over real conversations I've had that didn't turn out very well, and recreate the entire conversation. The recreated conversation becomes one in which my words and thoughts are so sparkling  everyone can't help but admire my accomplishments. I used to think I was the only one who dreamed up entire conversations. Now, I imagine most people do the same thing.

After beginning my first book, I found the words just flowed out from my mind to the computer screen. I was surprised and wondered why the process of creation happened so easily. It wasn't until I was about half way through my first book, I realized I had been practicing writing stories in my head for most of my life. Who would have thought my daydreams would be a prelude to the story I created out of nothing?

The moral for everyone to learn from is this, daydreaming is good for all of us.

Casco Bay Islands

I grew up on a hill overlooking the mouth of the Royal River in Yarmouth. The whole area was our playground. When I started writing, I set my story on an imaginary island in Casco Bay across from the city of Portland, Maine. It's a small island called Deanes Island and is connected to the mainland by a bridge.

In my first book, Murder Is Always Evil, I write about a company looking for land on which to build a power plant. It never happened on my island but it did happen on a real Casco Bay island called Cousins Island. This occurred sometime in the 1950's and a bridge was built from the island to Yarmouth to facilitate the building of the plant. Before I was married and still living at home in Yarmouth, I would drive to Cousins Island on my days off and spend time at the beach. It was beautiful and peaceful and I can understand why Noah, the main character of my books, liked to go to the beach to relax and enjoy the calming effect of the waves.

My first job was at a branch of Portland Public Library. The Children's Librarian of the main branch on Congress St., Mrs. Rowe, lived on Peaks Island, another Casco Bay island, and traveled back and forth to work on the ferry. I could never imagine how she did it. During my first year or two, when we used to have a crazy schedule at my Branch, I spent a half day a week in the PPL Children's Department. I enjoyed it, and I learned enough to carry back to my Branch, and put to good use. I preferred my Branch however, because we served all ages from cradle to grave, and we often received requests from grieving relatives for books showing best ways to cope with death.

I'm hoping in my second book, the Mayor will be convinced to find a way to have a PPL Branch on my Island. If he does, I will make good use of it.

The Woods Behind

In earlier posts I've mentioned the wooded areas near our Yarmouth house where my siblings and I played. If we kept walking East through the woods, we came to a clearing which overlooked the Royal River. I have found an old, and I mean old, photo of one of our dogs, Major, sitting and staring at the river. Here it is:

I love this photo. Eventually, 

we were cut off from our woodland playground when the State put in a new section of I-95 right in the middle of it. I have photos showing that monstrosity in the process of coming to life.

This one shows Nicky, my younger brother with Major. We used to wander the area on the weekends when the construction crew wasn't working. I can still picture us standing on the completed road before it was opened and being amazed.

After the highway was finished and our father took us for a ride, we had difficulty believing it was the same place, until we looked through the trees and saw the back of our house. We had mixed feelings about the change in our playground, but mostly kept our thoughts to ourselves.

My Love of Writing

I grew up in the 1950's in Maine, and many scenes from my childhood have been included in my book. Some of these descriptions of growing up in Yarmouth, Maine can be found in my previous blog, Memoirs of a scared little girl.

Those of us who lived in that time period are part of the Baby Boomers generation, and many of us are still around, retired but active. I have three sisters and a brother still here on earth, and many former classmates. The time period right after WWII and into the 1960's was full of many changes. My memories of life then are mostly happy. The happy ones happened when I was with my family. The unhappy memories were usually related to school, even though I loved school. To me it was an exciting place because I loved to learn new things and school provided me with that opportunity.

The first time I remember actually enjoying writing was the time when my 8th grade English teacher, Mrs. Winslow, asked us to write a descriptive paragraph. I thought about it while sitting on my bed, looking out of the window. My  bedroom was on the second floor and faced the tree across the street. This tree actually had a name, Herbie, and was the oldest elm tree in Yarmouth. Most of the other elm trees which lined Main Street had been lost to Elm disease some time in the 1950's.

I stared at that tree with its bare branches outlined against the blue sky and wished I were skilled enough to paint it. I thought it was beautiful. Later, still trying to think of a subject for my paragraph, that tree appeared in my mind in all its glory. I knew I had found my subject. If I couldn't describe it with paints, I would describe it with words. I wrote it, turned it in and received a grade of A with glowing comments from my teacher.

That paragraph was the beginning of my love of writing from the heart.

The Yarmouth house where I spent my growing up years. The 2nd floor on the left front is where my room was. Below my room is the front entry to the house. Across the street is the yard where Herbie grew.

By Susan Davis Cummings

While finishing up my book, I realized my lead character or hero of the story seems to be loosely based on me. Interesting. I didn't plan it that way, but I guess it makes sense. Not so much my personality, but my childhood experiences exist in my story of Noah Drinkwater and his Deanes Island life.

As I'm writing descriptions of certain scenes or buildings, I have pictures in my mind of ones I've seen or know. The Aleynby house is roughly based on the house I lived in during my school years in Yarmouth. It's a little bigger but the downstairs layout is almost an exact  copy. The room at the back next to the kitchen is where my Grandfather Drinkwater stayed when he lived with us. In Murder Is Always Evil it is Abby's room. My real house has no sewing room, which I added to give Abby a larger area as her own domain.

We had woods behind our house which eventually led to an inlet or tributary of the Royal River. During the winter months when the leaves were gone from the trees, we could see the mouth of the river from our house. We lived on a street called East Main Street and our house is on the top of a hill, a short ways from the bridge which crossed the Royal River and connected East Main St. with Main St. and Pleasant St. The house is still there. It was a wonderful place to grow up.
   

Looking up East Main St. towards our house on the right just beyond the white house.