Many readers have commented
favorably on the settings in my books, often centered--although not always--on
the Oregon Coast or the Puget Sound area in western Washington. Two examples
are my YA romance, Sandcastles of Love and my adult romantic suspense
novel, The Fisherman's Daughter. (Both books are available on
Amazon.com) Marine background settings do indeed play a big factor in these
books. But why beach settings? Why do they evoke strong memories that fuel my
writing?
I grew up near Edmonds, north of
Seattle, WA. Many decades earlier, Edmonds began its existence as a logging
town. Now this “friendliest town in Washington” boasts luxurious condos with
sweeping views of the Sound, unique gift shops and boutiques, antique stores,
and scrumptious bakeries--just to name a few. In summertime and early fall,
colorful hanging flower baskets adorn the main streets, giving the town a
festive, European ambiance.
I remember as a small girl
scouring the beach in Edmonds for shiny small rocks and shells, and the soft
plopping sounds as I dropped each shell into my plastic bucket. Even broken
shells would do! (Those were the days when it was all right to take the shells
home.) I remember the relatives who visited every summer without fail from the
Midwest. They loved riding the ferry, even if it were only to the opposite
shore and back. Often in the late afternoon, the women packed up a casserole, a
simple salad, and beverages to tote to the beach where we’d spread out our
feast onto wind-worn picnic tables. My dad would join us once he returned from
work. There we’d eat, laugh, talk and gaze out over the Sound. We'd sometimes
make a game of counting the number of vehicles boarding the ferry. And what
impressive ferries they were with their multiple decks and their
green-and-white, sleek designs.
I remember my early teen years
when my girlfriends and I’d walk to the beach during summertime. We’d spread out
blankets, slather on cocoa butter, bake under the sun, and look for cute guys.
With a briny breeze against our faces, the warmth radiating up from the sand,
and the occasional wail of a train that rode the rails paralleling the beach,
we were happy Beach Bums for the day. Later during high school, our crowd I
often drove to the beach on warm summer evenings. We built beach fires that
scented the air with the salty smell of driftwood. We strolled barefoot,
feeling the gritty sand between our toes. Later we huddled around the fire to
toast marshmallows and solve the world’s problems--or so we thought.
And a weekend campout on Whidby
Island with my biology class resulted in several of us kids getting caught by
an incoming tide. What an adventure finding our way out! (That scene appears in
my second published book, Double Crossing, released by a German
publisher many years ago.)
After I'd married, and our two
sons were small, we took them to Edmonds often to visit their grandparents. The
beach was always an important part of those visits. How the boys loved to dig
in the sand--if we'd forgotten to take a bucket and shovel, they'd improvise by
using shells as "scoopers." And whenever they'd hear the Amtrak
whistle growing louder, they'd drop their "scoopers" and go running
to get a good view of the train roaring by and to wave to the engineer, who
would usually wave back!
My husband and I still visit
Edmonds regularly. Though our immediate family is gone, some extended family
and friends remain, and it’s fulfilling to connect with them. Yet a good part
of our time is spent overlooking the beach and the ferry dock. There we love
watching the ferry traverse the Sound, hearing the waves lapping gently against
the beach, and seeing the rugged Olympic Mountains off to the west.
Yes, some things do indeed
change, but not all things. And my memories are forever fixed in time.
These are just a few of the evocative sensory details I aspire to bring to my
writing.