The Swanson Shuffle

The Swanson Shuffle Launches April 30

Ta-da, my next novel, The Swanson Shuffle has an official release: April 30. For me, that will be a happy day as this novel finally will be available to readers as an eBook and paperback. The link’s below. 

Over the next few weeks, I will share posts about the book’s pieces, that is, its story line, characters, setting, inspiration, and what was happening in 1974 when the book takes place. Today, I am writing about the title, The Swanson Shuffle, and what that means.

Two years out of college, Bia Fernandes leaves a dead-end job to work and live in a psychiatric halfway house, where she learns more than she expects from the ex-patients who live there. The Swanson House is a century-old mansion that must have been grand in its day when it was owned by the Swanson family who got rich from the mills in that town. Since then, it’s been an inn, a rooming house, and now a psychiatric halfway house. The building will eventually be demolished when an interstate is extended through that town.

That’s the Swanson part.

As for the shuffle, I will let Bia, who tells this story, explain what that’s about. At the start of the book, she has arrived at Swanson House for part of the interview process.

I pull my black VW Bug onto the long drive of Swanson House and park beside a maroon-colored car with fins. A man leaning over its chrome grill squints as he raises his head and pushes his long, dark hair back with the side of his arm. I remember him from when I came for the interview last week. His name is Jerry, and the man marching in place beside the car’s front fender is Lane, actually Lanford Dawson V. That’s what he told me, and I haven’t forgotten because he made such a big deal about the V and when he said, “I come from a long line of Lanes.”

I’m here for the overnight visit, part of the hiring process to see if I can cut working and living in a psychiatric halfway house. I’m early, but I’ve already driven once around Petersville, and it looks just like another Massachusetts mill town barely holding onto itself. The houses, mostly triple-deckers, are a little worn, and downtown is a strip of dusty stores a few blocks from the brick factories. A supermarket, an International House of Pancakes, and a couple of car dealerships are on the outskirts of town, where a patch of scrubby forest ends.

Lane stands beside my VW although his feet still move on top of a thin, gray crust of snow. Up and down. Up and down. Like somebody ordered Lane to mark time and forgot all about him, so he keeps doing it. I asked about it when I was here before. Debbie, the staff member who’s leaving, said it’s a side effect of the drug Lane takes. Two other guys at the house also take it, and they do the same exact thing. They call it the Swanson shuffle.

I witnessed such a side effect when I was a live-in staff at a psychiatric halfway house a long time ago. To be clear, this book is not a memoir. But I believe my personal experience allows me to give an accurate portrayal of what could happen when people with zero experience in the mental health field are hired to live with ex-patients. 

The residents are expected to have jobs, take their medication and do chores. They interact at dinner, meetings, card games, and activities such as volleyball games in the backyard. The staff members are supposed to be role models and help in any way they can. That’s how Bia feels when she is hired. But, alas, that’s not the what happens in The Swanson Shuffle. More soon….

Here’s the link to The Swanson Shuffle to pre-order your Kindle version. (Paperback readers don’t have to wait and can get a copy now.) Thanks for your interest.

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Isabel Long Mystery Series

News about Isabel Long Mystery Series

So, what has P.I. Isabel Long been up to these days? Plenty. And fans of the mystery series will soon be able to read about it when I release no. 8 — Finding the Source. That will happen late May, a date to be determined. Right now, my son Ezra Livingston is working on the cover.

For those just tuning in, Isabel Long was coming off a bad year when she decided to investigate what happened to a woman who walked home from her family’s general store and was never seen again. That was 28 years ago. When she began the case, Isabel was coming off a bad year after her husband died unexpectedly and she lost her job as editor-in-chief of a local paper. With that case solved, she moves onto others. 

Each book features a cold case Isabel tries to solve in the fictional hilltowns of Western Mass. I wrote the first, Chasing the Case, eight years ago.

Writing a series means that I can hold onto the characters I love but let them do something else. Certainly, that includes Maria, Isabel’s 93-year-old mystery-loving mother who is her Watson; Jack, who owns the Rooster Bar, where Isabel has a part-time job and with whom she has a relationship; the Old Farts, a group of gossipy old who provide great intel; Annette Waters, aka the Tough Cookie who owns a junkyard. Others are one and done.

So, what’s Finding the Source about? Isabel Long and Maria are about to have lunch in a nearby city when they are approached by a homeless man, Tom McKenzie, who announces his mother had been murdered 43 years ago and the case never solved. Tom was only 12 when he found her beaten and strangled in their home.

His mother, Abby McKenzie, was a likeable and smart book buyer, finding vintage editions where people don’t value them like in yard sales. She sold books to collectors and at her store in the small town of Dillard. Her body was found beside a smashed bookcase where she kept her most valuable books.

Here’s a chance to help somebody who obviously was traumatized. Naturally, Isabel is interested.

So, as she did with her other cases, Isabel gets to work finding sources to interview. Fortunately, Tom has accumulated helpful information in a notebook.

One of the obstacles Isabel faces in this case is that many of the suspects are dead. They include an avid book collector, a former town official who stalked her, and the man who was allegedly the last to see Abby alive. But there are others to interview like the collector’s twin brother, a supposedly best friend, and Abby’s ex-husband. Hmm, what about his current wife?

Then there is Jim Hawthorne, Dillard’s police chief, who has become Isabel’s nemesis running interference on her other cases. He even tried to pin a murder on her.

In this midst of all this drama, there is fun, including a big Halloween bash at the Rooster.

As I get closer to the release, including making a formal announcement, I will tell you a whole lot more, like how a chance encounter inspired this book.

For those who want to catch up, here is the series: Chasing the Case, Redneck’s Revenge, Checking the Traps, Killing the Story, Working the Beat, Finding the Source, and Missing the Deadline. You can find those and other books I’ve written for Kindle and paperback in this link.

By the way, I was very happy this weekend, when a reader bought the entire series to take home to Canada. Thanks Murray.

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North Fairhaven Girl

North Fairhaven Girl: Remember Mom

Today, April 2, my mother Algerina Medeiros would have been 101. She left us Aug. 26, 2023. I wrote this piece for her 99th birthday. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately, wishing I could call her on Sunday just to chat. She’d be sitting in her comfy chair in the living room, likely with the TV on and the cat on her lap. Mom would likely have been playing Sudoku or completing a crossword puzzle in the newspaper before she picked up the phone after the first ring.

Those calls ended when Mom went to live in a convalescent home. So those calls were replaced with visits when I could make the long ride “home” from where I now live.

Anyway, I found this piece I wrote when she turned 99, and I will share it with you today. My mother and father were so well known in their town, especially in North Fairhaven, where they lived and were so involved.

On April 2, my mother, Algerina is 99 years old. That’s a very long life filled with creativity and a curiosity about the world around her. Let me tell you about her.

Her parents emigrated from the Portuguese island of Madeira. They met in New Bedford, Mass., worked in the textile mills, and bought a house and land in a nearby town, where they kept a large vegetable garden and goats. A great deal was expected of my mother and her younger sister, Ernestina. Although a good student, my mother was forced to drop out of high school to work in one of those mills. Her sister had to take care of the house.

As a young adult, Mom continued to live at home, thinking she was going to be an old maid, a term we don’t use today. She was 24 when she met my father Antone on a blind date. They were married six weeks later. It was a very long and happy marriage that ended when our father passed at in 2015 a few months short of his 93rd birthday. Mom always says their years of marriage were the best of her life.

They had three other children besides me: my sisters, Christine and Kij; my brother, Tony. There are lots of grandchildren, and even great-grandchildren.

My father was active in their town of Fairhaven, Massachusetts, especially with sports, whether playing or coaching it. My mother would be there watching and keeping score. Both were heavily involved in St. Mary’s annual shows, and my mother put her sewing talents to great use creating costumes for them both. (Her costume-making guaranteed me a starring role in my school plays. The prom gowns she sewed, including the one with the glass beads on the bodice, are in a trunk still.)

It’s unfortunate my mother had to leave school because she loved learning. She wanted to be a nurse, and seeing how she cared for our father in his last years, she would have been a caring one. She was a big reader. When we were kids, she took us to the Millicent Library twice a week for an armload of books she read in bed.

Mom took adult education classes in such subjects as millinery — I wore feathered hats with veils to church — jewelry making, cake decorating, painting, you name it.

She and Dad enjoyed traveling, especially to Hawaii, Las Vegas, Madeira, and the Azores.

I have fond memories of the long days we spent at the beach on the weekends. Mom would make clam fritters. (She and Dad dug for clams and quahogs in season.)

She loved eating lobster.

Until she had to give up her license a few years ago, Mom drove to three places to eat and shop — Wendy’s, Walmart and Market Basket, taking only right-hand turns. She had a bit of a heavy foot. Hank joked she drove like she was in the getaway car of a bank robbery.

My mother enjoyed gambling and winning, whether it was Bingo put on by one of the local churches or playing the slots at the casino. She had a head for Sudoku, a puzzle that mystifies me. A loyal newspaper reader, she still has a subscription to the New Bedford Standard Times.

My mom’s not the meddling kind of mother. She let her children find out things for themselves. I am certain there are times she was mystified by the decisions I made and the directions I took, but she kept that to herself.

Mom is also the inspiration for the mother, Maria in my Isabel Long Mystery Series. I give that character a lot of my mother’s interests and personality. She’s nosy and helpful solving crimes. My mother liked that.

On Friday, my son Zack and I paid a pre-birthday visit to Mom. She now needs special care and help, certainly understandable given her age and health. She was happy to see us, as we were happy to spend time with her. When we both sang “Happy Birthday,” she joined us. She still has her sense of humor. When she heard somebody say “Hey!” she responded with “Hay is for horses!”

There’s so much more I could write about my mother, but this post gives you an idea.

Happy 99th birthday, Algerina. Thank you for being my mother.

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Hilltown Postcards

Hilltown Postcard: Maple Sugaring

I recall the late Win Donovan saying when we moved to Worthington that the hilltowns have two seasons — winter and the Fourth of July. Then I learned about another: maple sugaring season, which typically straddles winter and spring. And when I was a reporter, it was part of my beat covering small towns in the western part of the state for the local paper.

Maple sugaring season happens when the weather is warm enough during the day to get the maple trees’ sap flowing and cold enough at night that it stops. A lot of work goes into getting those trees ready and then boiling their sap into maple syrup that is sold in jugs to customers.

Each year, I tried to find a different angle and hilltown maple sugarers were very accommodating. Of course, Mother Nature had a hand in that. My story could be about the season starting early or late. The season was long or short. 

By the way, the official end to the season is when the spring peepers — small tree frogs — begin making a high-pitched “peep-peep.” Yes, I learned that from a sugarer.

Maybe I wrote about the business of maple sugaring, including those folks who have a seasonal restaurant serving breakfast with the syrup they made. 

Then there were those optimistic folks who have been sugaring for decades. Paul Sena in Worthington was one of my go-to sugarers. Hank and I still drive there to buy syrup, my favorite sweetener, from him.

I recall going out with a sugarer as he started tapping maple trees, that is, attaching the tubing that will run sap downhill to a large vat. I hung out when the first batch of sap was hauled back to a sugarhouse and boiled into syrup in a wood-fired flat-panned evaporator that billowed slightly sweet steam.

One story was about a new system that used reverse osmosis to pre-concentrate sap, which shortens the process of boiling and saves on firewood. That was a far cry from the very old days when people used oxen to haul the sap that was collected in buckets.

Maple sugaring was also the inspiration for one of my novels, Northern Comfort. Using what I learned from the maple sugarers I interviewed, I tried to capture the process of stringing lines, tapping trees, and boiling. Miles Potter, one of the main characters, helps his buddy, Dave, a relative newcomer who is enamored by the old-time ways including sugaring. He taps the trees owned by a doctor in town. For Miles, the work is cathartic since he was involved in a tragedy. Here’s an excerpt:

Yesterday, when the temperature rose into the forties and everyone’s houses dripped melted snow, some sap collected in the vats at the bottom of each sugar bush. Today, the run was full-blown with two thousand gallons ready to be boiled into syrup.

Dave was full of local lore as he moved around the sugarhouse after Ruth and the girls went home. He talked about how farmers in New England used to make maple sugar, forming it into hard cakes. Maple syrup became popular in the late 1800s when someone invented the evaporator, which resembles a flat-bottom boat when it’s empty.

Miles glanced up from the firebox’s door. He raised a gloved hand.

“Dave, you’ve told me this story six years straight. Why don’t you tell me this on the third week when we’re so sick of this stuff and pulling all-nighters we vow never to do it again? Or better yet, save it for the doctor. I bet he’d love telling his buddies back in New York all about it.”

Dave studied Miles.

“Shit, you can be such a spoilsport sometimes.” He reached for his leather gloves. “Anyway, around the Civil War people up North began using maple sugar instead of cane sugar and molasses from the South. They used to call it northern comfort.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember that from last year.”

The sugarhouse, only yards from Dave’s house, was unheated, except for the evaporator’s fire box. Step a few feet outside at night, and the cold had a punch, but next to the evaporator, all was humid and hot like a woman’s mouth. The swirling sap in the pan gave off a bank of steam, which rose to the sugarhouse’s vented roof.

They fired up the evaporator about an hour ago. It’d be another two before Dave could pour the season’s first syrup. As Dave reminded Miles, the first boil sweetens the pan, so it takes longer than the next firings. They’d be here until ten or so and resume boiling the next day.

Miles helped Dave build his sugarhouse seven years ago. They took measurements from an abandoned shack in South Hayward that had collapsed from heavy snow the year before Dave’s was built. Rough-hewn boards nailed vertically covered the rectangular building. On the wall near the shelf for the radio, Dave penciled the starting and ending dates for each season, and how many gallons of syrup they had made. Today’s date was Thursday, March 5.

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North Fairhaven Girl

North Fairhaven Girl 4: Millicent Library

I was a reader before I became a writer. My teachers at Oxford School got me started. But it was the books I borrowed from my town’s Millicent Library that got me inspired.

As I’ve mentioned before, my mother was a voracious reader, who brought us to the library to borrow enough books to last a week. During the summer, the library sent a bookmobile to St. Mary’s parking lot at the bottom of our street, but I preferred going to the library because it was like stepping into a castle, the building was that grand. See the photo above that I took on a visit.

First a little history: The Millicent Library is one of the extraordinarily beautiful buildings given to my hometown of Fairhaven by Henry Huttleston Rogers, a resident who became wealthy thanks to oil. Charles Brigham, the noted architect, designed the Italian Renaissance building, which took two years to complete. The library is dedicated to Rogers’ daughter Millicent, who died at age 17. It appears she once said, “I wish we had a good library.” It was dedicated on Jan. 30, 1893, the anniversary of her birth.

Friends from Taos, New Mexico, where Hank and I lived for 11 years, will recognize the name Millicent Rogers. In Taos’ case, this Millicent was the granddaughter of Henry Huttleston Rogers. She lived a fabulous, artistic life. An art museum, which we visited often, is named for her.

But back to Fairhaven … the children’s room was to the left of the circulation desk, where Rita Steele, head librarian, was in charge. There, I vowed to read the entire Wizard of Oz Series, all 14 books. I don’t recall how far I got. My sister Christine and I got hooked on the Nancy Drew Series, taking turns to read each chapter as we proceeded through the story — believing like most everyone else the author was indeed Carolyn Keene. Books that captured my imagination: The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith, and, of course, The Diary of Anne Frank. There were so many more.

Another memory: the Samurai sword on open display. The 14th century Tachi sword worn in court ceremonies was a gift long ago from the then-Japanese ambassador — in recognition of the town’s connection to his country. Unfortunately the sword was stolen in 1977. The library now has a replacement.

When I stopped using the kids’ room, I ventured into the adult section, including nonfiction. I wanted to read every one, an impossible task, I realize.

By the way, I was happy to learn the Millicent Library carries several of the books I’ve written. I also did a reading there in October 2023, which was a homecoming that included a cousin, classmates, and even my ninth-grade history teacher.

Besides my adult fiction, I write children’s books, specifically for middle grade readers. For my Twin Jinn Series, I created a family of magical beings — jinn or genies — who live among humans. So far, I have published two: The Twin Jinn at Happy Jack’s Carnival of Mysteries and most recently, The Twin Jinn and the Alchemy Machine. 

I wanted to write books that inspire young readers. And I thank the Millicent Library for getting me going on that.

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