Susan Crandall | Author of Fiction

Blog

You are here: Home / Archives for Indiana

The Flying Circus now in Paperback!

By 1 Comment

Good news for book clubs. The Flying Circus is now available in paperback (February 16, 2016).flying32

I hope you all love the new cover as much as I do and I invite those of you who have yet to meet Mercury’s Daredevils, Henry, Cora and Gil, to take this opportunity to indulge in a lovely winter read.

The Flying Circus is a national pick for the 600 plus chapters of the Pulpwood Queens Book Club. I’m so excited to share young Henry’s journey, his heartbreak and his triumphs with you all.

In celebration I’ve added an entire page of bonus material for you to enjoy. See some of the photos that inspired the book. Get an insider view of my experiences with aviation. Watch videos of the aerial thrills of the 1920s. I will be adding more items to this page, so check back often.

Also find a great book club oriented Reading Group Guide for your use. As well as a book specific author Q&A about The Flying Circus.

 

Writing: Why I Write Outdoors

By 4 Comments

Susan Crandall Writing Outdoors

The Screened-In Porch: A Lovely Place to Write. Outside. No Bugs.

Once when I was in New York City discussing my career with my editor and her boss, I told them that whenever possible—and by possible I mean frostbite free and not too hot to melt my laptop—I choose to write outdoors.  Their expressions bordered on horror.  Naturally, those expressions were followed by the question, “Why?”

Well, now that was a question I’d never envisioned anyone asking.  And quite honestly, I’d never actually asked myself.  I’d always assumed everyone wanted to be outdoors if at all possible.  Apparently not so for those who dwell in Manhattan.  And to be both honest and fair, if I dwelt there, outdoors would probably slide way down on my list too.  (I’d also probably go insane from lack of sunlight on my skin).  I’ve been to NYC only in extreme seasons, January and cold enough to freeze a witches’ ta-tas and dead of summer when there’s no way on God’s green earth they can pick up the garbage fast enough.  In a nutshell, I am clearly NOT a city dweller.

Working Outdoors

Cleaning Lawnmower Parts: Also working outdoors, but NOT writing outdoors. Some of my best writing is done outside, while completely away from the keyboard.

To me, writing outdoors feels natural. I need green.  I need to feel the breeze on my skin. And apparently, I’m not the only one. When I’m writing a scene or a chapter and become stuck, I head out to cut the grass or dig in the dirt.  When I need to know what it’s like for my character to run through the woods in the dark barefooted, I take a midnight hike.  (I tend to choose small town or rural settings when writing my books too.) When I want to lose myself in another soul (as we writers do when we’re firing on all cylinders), I do it outside.  I even had a balcony built outside my office.  It’s on the south side of the house and stays warm on chilly afternoons.  Outdoors I’m away from distractions: the laundry, the phone, the I’ll-just-go-scrub-that-toilet-while-I-think excuse for leaving my computer.  And of course, safely away from the call of the refrigerator and pantry filled with snacks.

Outdoors I am free.  I can be anyone I want to be.  I can be anywhere I want to be.  And to be truthful, I don’t feel like I’m working when I’m outdoors.  The time flies.  The pages amass.  I’’m lucky to be able to do what I love for a living.  I’m luckier still to be able to do it mostly outdoors.

If I wasn’t writing, I think I’d like to be a farmer—the crop raising kind, because I couldn’t bear the cycle of livestock rearing.  Outdoors.  Love it.

Thinking Time

By Leave a Comment

This past weekend I spent almost every waking hour working in my yard. We’ve been having an unseasonably warm stretch for April here in Indiana, something I’m certain we’ll pay for in May — probably with snow. Watch it, those of you who were lulled into purchasing flowers!

Anyway, I pruned, fertilized, and edged about a million feet of mulch beds (okay, maybe it was only half a million, but seriously, it takes 16 yards of mulch to cover them). Now it’s time to guilt the grown children into helping me move and spread the dump truck load of mulch that will be arriving in my driveway today.

While I was working, I looked up and there were six hawks circling overhead.hawk

They made me think of my dad. He’s been gone for nearly 21 years, but some days it seems like only yesterday he was buzzing my house in his plane and scaring my neighbors half to death. I’ve always thought that if there was anything to receiving your rewards in Heaven, he’d be up there flying like a hawk. He loved the wind in his face, loved flying open cockpit planes and his Piper Cub with the door open — really low. I truly think he would have been happy as a bird.

He was not only a private pilot (recreational), but he spent endless hours building his own aircraft in our tiny garage. It began by building and flying model planes, but eventually grew into the real thing. Like everything he did, it became a near obsession. I remember hearing him out there at all hours of the night working away (my sleeplessness must be genetic). Here are my children “helping” him.

Reid and Allison in Dad's Plane

Reid and Allison in Dad's Plane

Unfortunately, he didn’t get to finish this plane.

Now back to that obsession thing. He was also infatuated with books and reading — funny thing for a guy who hated school and joined the Navy long before high school graduation. Unfortunately for me, he died before I even began writing. I often wish he was around to discuss the emotional and psychological aspects of my characters; he was the kind of guy who could see deep inside people.

Being outdoors always helps me think, I figure out lots of plot and character stuff while cutting the grass. But this weekend, working in the yard and seeing those hawks, made me feel close to my dad. And I like to think maybe he helped me just a bit with the story questions I was wrestling while I was out there working.

Thanks, Dad.