It is snowing today, and it’s the best kind of snow, because it is thick and beautiful in the air, but the ground has been so warm recently that the streets are clear. I took a walk at 7am and no one was up to witness the world with me, and now I have tea and a fire to keep me company. (I also have a little bowl of fool’s gold and Lucky Charms because the leprechauns – two adults and a toddler, apparently – visited and threw chocolate coins and mini marshmallows everywhere. You may be wondering how I know the approximate ages of the magical creatures that came to snack and rest awhile in the little home built for them by my children, and I will tell you. I know toddlers. I taught them, I raised them, and only toddlers would dump, willy nilly, so much sugar on the living room floor on a school day. Not even a leprechaun parent would be so foolhardy…) 

I also have a book (This Here Flesh, by Cole Author Riley) that I would love to be reading right now, but it’s still a work day, so that will have to wait. I might sneak in a few pages at lunch, but I’m more likely to pop in a headphone and listen to an audiobook then, when I’m making a sandwich/cleaning up/throwing in laundry – all the exciting tasks that have to be done when working from home. (Well, chores don’t HAVE to be done, but I’ve found if I don’t do them, little fairies do not appear to take care of them for me, more’s the pity.) Right now, I’m hooked on the Russell and Sherlock series by Laurie R King, and it’s wonderful, so that’s no great hardship. In fact, sometimes I “work” around the house longer than I need to just so that I can listen to one more chapter.

I like to tell myself that it’s valuable research time, and that if I don’t take time to read, my writing will suffer. The truth is…well, it will. It has. When I spend too little time reading other people’s brilliantly ordered words, my own dry up. The only time this isn’t true is when I’m deep into writing one of the novels. When Maren and I are plotting and getting through a lot of scenes quickly, I can’t be distracted. I have to hit pause on other stories (thankfully, it’s usually only for a week or so at a time) until our characters have taken their foot off the gas. 

Right now, I can tell I’m gearing up for writing the third novel in the series, as well as a couple of shorts (free this summer) because my brain wants ALL the input. I can’t get enough reading time, and my mind feels like it’s starving for books but I can’t feed it enough to feel satiated. It’s a strange feeling – maybe it’s a little like carbo loading for a big race. At some point soon, probably in the next few weeks, my own ideas will start pouring out, and Maren and I will get to tuck into the brainstorming and organization that comes before the novel itself. I love that moment, and I can’t wait because I’m ready for Rye and Wanda to kickstart another adventure.

In the meantime, I might just listen to a few chapters while I clean the basement…

~ Maria

Death at Fair Havens is the fun part – the plotting, the writing, the negotiations having two authors always brings – even the edits! We hope you have as much fun reading it as we did writing it.

After spending a month learning how to build this site, Maren and I now must tackle another rung on the fiction author’s ladder – the newsletter. This is far more her domain than mine. She has written a recycle truck’s worth of newsletters in her day. She also subscribes to the newsletter of every author she enjoys. I know this because at least twice a week, she forwards me one that she loves. (Of course, this is balanced out by the fact that she gets most of her books from the library, and I buy the majority of mine on Audible or Kindle so that I can read while making dinner or waiting for the kids to get out of school. She knows what I like, so when I see that newsletter pop up, there’s a 100 percent chance I’m going to click through and drop a new book on my digital TBR pile.)

Of course, newsletters are a useful beast – informative, funny, good for publicity – but I came up on the internet with blogs. If you have a blog, I’ll probably follow it. I probably already follow it. I don’t get tired of blogs the way I do of email, constantly popping up to ruin my Inbox 0. I can read a post on my own time, and it doesn’t ask anything of me in return. There’s not much on the internet these days that can say the same.

Do you want to know the best thing about being on a writing team though? You’re allowed to like different things. You’re allowed to be good at different things. You are even allowed to believe, in your heart of hearts, that your partner should be responsible for writing those newsletters she loves so much!

When I think of Maren writing newsletters, I still see her old office in her sunporch. It was always a little too warm (unless it was freezing) and either way, on the futon would be a dog curled up in an afghan. There was a certain smell to the room when either the radiator or sun warmed it, and there were always dust motes settling as she sat with a legal pad in her lap. She did not prioritize dusting the way she did writing, and I understood that if she spent time cleaning, she wouldn’t have time to finish the thing she had to do (a newsletter, a sermon, a workshop) and still have time for the things she wanted to do (poetry, prayers, and fiction).

Unfortunately, I did not inherit her passion for doing all the things. She is the person to call if the world needs loving. She will teach anywhere, march if it will save one person from a great injustice, sit with you as the world falls down around your shoulders. I, on the other hand, am the person to text (or email if you must, but please, never call) if you need a lasagna or someone to play in the creek with your children or dog. I will also dust for you, and water your plants, and clean stubbornly stained tea mugs. I will even take those bags out of your trunk and drop them at Goodwill for you. (Do not call her for those things. Please see note about dusting above.)

All this is to say, we will have a newsletter. It will most likely not be written by me because I am much better at delegating than Maren is, and also, I don’t want to. Instead, I will do the thing I love best, which is to ramble on about books, the garden, women who make everything more interesting, how strange and wonderful it is to blend writing across generations…the good stuff.

Feel free to come along for the ride.

Maria