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.
Sunday, September 23, 2018
Sunday, September 2, 2018
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.
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
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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 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.
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, September 1, 2018
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
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